Tough Love, Tougher Consequences
by RaisingAmara
Summary: Sam's sixteen now, but he's still way too trusting. Dad has a grim plan to remedy that particular flaw and insists that Dean be the one to carry it out. When Dean reluctantly agrees, will Dad's form of tough love be more than the youngest Winchester can weather?
1. Chapter 1

Sam was sixteen the first time he encountered a shapeshifter.

The thing had jumped Dean coming home from a bar in the French Quarter one night and left him unconscious, cuffed and chained to a drain pipe in an abandoned warehouse. For four days and nights, the creature stayed in the motel room with Dean's little brother. It drove the boy to school in the mornings and picked him up in the afternoon. Sometimes it dropped him at the library or took him out for pizza. The thing slept in the bed across the room from Dean's brother at night, and it even took the boy on a hunt for werewolves in the next town over because Dean's dad called and yelled and made it afraid not to go.

At the end of the fourth day, though, the thing came to the realization that Dean's little brother was a pain in the ass. It realized that it had, in fact, jumped into the body of someone who was essentially the parent of a moody teenage boy and that the work involved was more than the thing desired. But it knew that simply leaving in Dean's car was out of the question. It had gotten to know the boy well enough in that short time to understand that it would be followed wherever it went.

That's when it made the decision to kill the boy instead.

The creature liked the body it had hijacked. The body was strong and able. It was a good and efficient fighter. It was also pretty, and the creature liked that especially. It had never been pretty before. It soon learned that pretty meant power, and that it could talk people into doing just about anything by amping up the charm and flashing the pretty man's smile.

The body was convenient, and the creature was loathe to give it up.

So on the evening of the fourth night, the creature waited until Dean's brother was asleep, and then it slipped the sharp, silver knife out from under the man's pillow. It crept silently to the other side of the room and crawled atop the boy, raising the knife high. The boy woke up then, but he didn't struggle. His eyes widened when he saw the creature that looked like his brother leaning over him with a knife, but he stayed stock-still anyway.

He trusted the creature not to hurt him. The thing could feel it.

But then Dean exploded into the room at that exact second, saw the thing on his brother's bed, and tackled it to the floor - all before the knife had time to descend.

And when Dean stabbed it in the chest with the silver knife, the thing died instantly, without even having time to regret not leaving in Dean's car after all.

It was in the moment after that all hell broke loose.

"Sammy!" Dean crawled into his brother's bed and shook him gently. "Sam! Talk to me! You alright, man? That bastard do anything?"

But Sam was in shock. He'd awoken to Dean leaning over him, knife raised high, and then suddenly Dean wasn't Dean anymore, and there was something dead on the floor that looked an awful lot like him.

"Dean?" He finally managed, staring into his brother's eyes.

"Yeah, it's me. It's REALLY me, this time. That fugly thing jumped me in the street and chained me to a freaking pipe." Dean reassured himself with a gentle hand on the back of his brother's neck, so relieved to see him alive and well that he nearly couldn't speak. "What about you? You okay? That bastard was about two seconds from driving my knife into your chest!"

Sam's hand went to his chest then, just to see if there was anything like a silver knife protruding from it. He looked up in confusion. "Yeah. No. I mean, yeah, Dean. I'm okay. I didn't know it wasn't you."

Dean stared into his brother's eyes. "Really Sam? The thing was with you for four days? You had no idea?"

Sam shook his head sadly. "No. I mean, there were some things that seemed … off. But not that much really."

"Off? What do you mean off?"

Sam tried to think. "Well, I mean, you were eating your hamburgers really rare. And you weren't drinking beer at all, but that's about it, I guess."

Dean stared. "And that didn't tip you off? What the hell, Sam?"

Sam just shrugged. "I guess not."

"Damn. You were two seconds from dead. You got to be more observant, dude."

Sam shrugged again. "It looked just like you, Dean. It acted like you. It had your memories. I mean, it knew to take me to school and pick me up again. Even Dad didn't know."

Dean shook his head, "Dad did know, Sam. He's the reason I got free. He came looking for me after you and that … that thing … joined him on the hunt. Dad knew it the moment he saw the thing."

Then it was Sam's turn to stare. His face turned pale. "He knew, and he didn't say anything?"

Dean realized then what Dad had done, and he tried to backpedal. "Well, I guess he thought you'd been okay this long …" then his voice trailed off, realizing that his father had endangered his brother's life by not getting him away from the shapeshifter right away."He didn't say anything at all?" he asked incredulously.

Sam shook his head, "You mean he thought I deserved whatever I got." Sam said softly. "Dad knew I was locked in this motel room with a shapeshifter, and he thought since I was too dumb to figure it out on my own, I deserved whatever happened."

Dean stared silently at his brother, rage for his father building. Still, he tried to defuse the situation. "I'm sure it wasn't like that, Sammy." He tried to reassure the boy. "Dad, just … sometimes he … I mean, he doesn't always know how to handle … things right."

"Bullshit!" Sam barked. "You mean he doesn't know how to handle me right. Who does that, Dean?" Sam demanded, his eyes tearing up. "Who lets their son come and go with a damned shapeshifter and never drops a hint?"

"Sam …"

"He came looking for you. He was concerned about you. To hell with me, right?"

Dean sat gazing at his little brother - the only person he really gave a damn about anywhere on the whole fucked-up planet - and felt everything he was feeling - anger, fear, embarrassment.

But mostly, he just felt betrayed. He felt betrayed by his father because his father had information and kept it to himself. And as a result, Sam had nearly died.

His brother was right. Who did something like that?

"Sammy … " Dean started, throat choking up. He was suddenly so angry with John Winchester that he nearly couldn't breathe.

Sam sighed. "It's fine, Dean. I mean, it's not like I'm not used to it, right? Dad has never …" Sam turned his head away then, eyes watering, and swallowed hard.

But Dean just pulled him close in a hug and whispered in his hair, "Sammy, when I came through that door and saw that thing hovering over you with a knife, I thought it was all over. I couldn't have gone on without you, Sam. I mean it."

Sam hugged him back. "I know, Dean. I feel the same way. With Dad … I just. If I didn't have you …"

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean murmured. "I got you now. It's all gonna be fine."

Dean wasn't much prone to nightmares, but he had a whole string of them that night. And in every one, his baby brother died a horrible death while his father stood by and watched indifferently, nodding silently like Sam deserved them all.


	2. Dad's Plan

"Learn something last night, son?" John addressed Sam the next morning when he swept into the room, looking like day-old death and encased in a cloud of self-righteousness.

Sam just glared at his father from the chair where he was researching the next case.

John stopped what he was doing when Sam ignored him, "Sam? You answer me when I ask you a question, son."

Sam looked back down at his laptop instead, silently seething.

But John was across the floor in three angry strides. He yanked Sam up by two hands buried in his shirt collar and pulled him close, "You deaf this morning, Sam? I asked you a question."

"Yes. Sir." Sam spit out, glaring directly into his father's eyes.

Dean chose that moment to step out of the bathroom in his boxers, steam wafting around him like a halo. He stopped short at the sight of Dad and Sam locked in a frozen, angry embrace across the room.

"Dad!" Dean yelled, crossing the room quickly. He forced himself between his brother and his father, "Knock it off. Both of you!" What Dean really meant was "Knock it off, Dad." But his courage failed him at the last minute.

"I was just asking your brother here what he learned last night." John explained, moving to the bed and tossing his gear across it.

Dean just stared at his father liked he'd lost his mind. "I think he learned what it feels like to be two seconds from dead." He blurted angrily.

John froze without turning, "That so?"

Dean was rapidly picking up speed. "Yeah. It is. When I got here, the thing was up on Sam's bed with my knife in its hand, ready to carve him a new heart. How could you do that, Dad? How could you not get that thing away from him when you had the chance?"

Sam placed a gentle hand on Dean's bare shoulder, "It's fine Dean." He cautioned, not wanting to be the reason that his father blew up at Dean.

John turned, looking contrite, yet determined, "Sam, I didn't know it was going to go that way. I'm sorry." He glanced at Dean and saw the anticipated anger there. "Dean, your brother needs to stop being such a sucker for a familiar face or it's going to get him killed. There are ways to notice that someone's possessed for crying out loud." He looked at Sam, "You just don't bother to look. Ever. And this issue of you trusting only what you see is going to be your downfall. We already lost your mother. We don't want to lose you too, Sam."

Like it was Sam's fault that Mom had died. Sam had been six month's old for Heaven's sake. But it was just like Dad to connect the two anyway, regardless of how far-fetched his theory was. Sam opened his mouth to argue the point, but then he saw Dean's face and stopped. His brother looked like he was about to lose his breakfast, and Sam knew that look. It was the one Dean got any time someone mentioned Mary. And Sam wouldn't put it past his father to have used that example specifically for that reason.

So Sam turned silently away instead. He moved to the bed to gather his clean clothes and headed into the bathroom to take his shower. It wasn't until the door closed firmly behind him that John spoke again.

"We need to address this, Dean." He said in a tone that suddenly made Dean's heart sink into his feet.

Dean stalked away, still angry. "What's to address? The thing fooled him. Big deal. It could just have easily fooled you or me."

"That's not true, and you know it. Do you want to lose your brother?"

Dean turned and glared. "That's a stupid question." He growled, waxing suicidal.

"Watch yourself, boy." John threatened menacingly. "You know what I'm saying is true. If we don't take this in hand - take Sam in hand - something else is going to do it for us and sooner than later. He can't keep on trusting every stray dog, every stranger, every Godforsaken creature that looks like his brother. He just can't. You've seen what's out there. You've seen what it does to weak, helpless people like your brother. Is that what you want for him? You want him to be ripped apart by a wendigo or bitten by a vamp? You want to be the one that has to slice off your brother's head when that happens? Do you? Because I sure don't."

Dean turned his back on his father, swallowing down the bile that suddenly rose in his throat at the older man's words. "You're wrong about Sammy." He muttered. "He's not weak. He's not helpless. He's just … different … from you and me. And that's not a bad thing to be sometimes."

"It's a bad thing to be when you're a hunter." John disagreed. "We need to break him of this soft-heartedness, of this … this … trusting nature. He needs to learn that life can be cruel. That not everyone plays by the same rules. He needs to learn that not everything in life is fair and that he's not invincible. Because if he doesn't, he's not going to be with us much longer. You know I'm right."

And Dean did know it. But he also knew that it was his little brother's soft heart and his kind and generous spirit that made him who he was. Those were also the things that Dean loved best about Sam - that he wasn't hard and jaded like Dean. He loved that Sam still found hope and laughter in the little things, things like stray animals and underdogs, and that he approached problems and people from an entirely different perspective than Dean did. It was what made them such a good team on the cases they worked together. It was all the soft and generous parts of Sam that Dean cherished the most, and Dad just acted like they needed to band together to beat all that goodness right out of him.

"And just how do you propose we do it?" He barked.

John paused. "You need to take him on a road trip."

Dean turned then, suddenly not wanting to hear what outrageous plan their father had concocted to "toughen" his brother up. "What sort of road trip?" He asked suspiciously.

"One that leads to a secluded place and goes on for days and days."

Dean just stood gaping.

"You're his weak spot, Dean. You need to be the one to show him that life can be cruel sometimes. That he can't always just blindly trust the people who are closest to him just because they look like family."

Dean wanted to be sure he was hearing this right, 'You're saying you want me to take Sam someplace where no one will hear him scream and then torture the trust right out of him?"

John sighed. "No one said anything about torture, Dean, just … tough love."

Dean stared, "With all due respect, Dad. You're out of your freakin' mind." He said, disbelievingly.

John shook his head. "What's the one thing I've pounded into your head from day one, Dean? What's your number one job?"

Dean was almost at a loss for words, "This is how you expect me to take care of Sammy?"

John nodded. "If you don't, someday some werewolf or some demon or some ghoul will. Would you rather have it that way? Would you rather take your brother into the woods and rough him up a bit or have another shapeshifter that looks like you do … whatever … to him?"

Dean felt sick. He snorted. "Not happening on my watch." He said, turning back around. "I'll work with Sammy. Train him more. Make him harder. But I'm not torturing my brother."


	3. Sam's Mistake

Sadly, Dean never got the opportunity to put his new training regimen into effect because the very next night, Sam screwed up again. And this time, it was epic.

The incident that decided Sam's fate came as Dean was hustling pool. He'd already taken a good $200 from a couple of local yocals who hadn't taken the beating very well. In reality, Dean should have quit while he was ahead.

But playing pool had a steadying effect on the older boy. It took his mind off all the terrible plans that his dad had for his baby brother, and right now Dean needed a good diversion in a big way.

So it was while Dean was playing pool and Sam was sitting at a table in the restaurant, working on his current history assignment, that a man approached the younger boy in agitation.

"Hey!" He spoke breathlessly to Sam. "Didn't you come in with that guy in the old black car? The one who was playing pool?"

Sam nodded, caught off guard.

"Well, three guys just dragged him out the side door, and one has a knife. Said they're gonna carve him up for taking their money!'

Sam shot up from the table instantly and flew out the side door, ready to come to his brother's defense. And luckily, Dean saw the whole thing go down from across the room. He wasn't close enough to hear what the man said to Sam, but he recognized him as one of the men he'd taken a good bit of money from earlier. And when he saw Sam shoot out the side door and saw the same four guys follow him out, he knew what was coming.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean muttered, tossing his cue and throwing the game. He pushed his way desperately through the crowd and burst out into the parking lot by the dumpsters. What he saw made Dean's vision go dark. They had Sam pinned to the ground in the parking lot, and his brother's face was already puffed and bleeding.

"Get your filthy hands off him!" He growled, wading into the fray and taking three of the men down easily.

"He's fifteen, you son of a bitch!" Dean snarled, as he pulled the last redneck bastard off his brother, noticing that Sam's belt was undone, his jeans nearly open. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dean took the guy down and landed on top of him, face-to-face. "You got a problem with me? You come see me, you fucking coward." He landed a punch that broke the guy's nose. "You don't ever, and I mean ever, lay a single filthy hand on him. You hear me?"

But the guy was unconscious by the time Dean issued his ultimatum. In fact, all four of Sam's attackers were down for the count as Dean moved to collect his little brother off the cold ground and bundle him into the Impala.

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean growled in frustration, as he helped his brother into the passenger seat, "What the hell did he say to you?"

Sam was breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating, and trying hard not to cry. "H-he said th-they took you outs-side. That th-they had a knife." He stammered out.

Dean climbed in behind the wheel and pounded it in frustration. "And you just … just believed him? Sam? He's a damned stranger. And I was right there! All you had to do was look up, and you'd have seen me standing at the pool tables! Why didn't you look for me first?"

Sam shook his head, and looked at his brother pleadingly. "I don't know, Dean! I guess … I guess I believed him. I just panicked. I thought they were gonna kill you before I could get there. I w-wasn't thinking!"

Dean's eyes filled with tears when he thought about what could have happened. "Sam, you .. you were almost … I mean … do you know what was about to happen back there? Sam, they weren't just going to give you a black eye, dammit!"

Sam swallowed and nodded, looking away. "I know. They told me."

Dean looked at his brother sharply as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot. "What'd they say?"

Sam just shook his head.

"Dammit Sam! What'd they say?"

"They said they were gonna do to me what you did to them, okay! Is that what you wanted to hear?" Sam exploded. "They said then maybe you'd think twice before hustling someone again." He turned his face to the window.

Dean pulled the car swiftly over to the side of the road and dove for the door. He suddenly heaved up everything he'd drank back at the bar. It was his fault. The things they'd been about to do to Sam - all of that was on him. And somewhere far back in the dark recesses of his mind, he knew that the things that Dad wanted him to do to Sam - that was all going to be his fault too.

"Sammy," Dean said, swiping at the back of his mouth, "Listen, Dad can't ever find out about this, okay?"

Sam snorted, "No shit. You don't h-have to worry about me telling him."

But when they pulled up in front of the motel, Dad's truck was there, and Dean cursed under his breath. Of all the damned times for Dad to want to … play Dad … he had to pick now.

"Shit." Dean said, turning to look at his brother whose face was bruised, bloody and swollen. He made a decision. "You know what?" He said, restarting the engine. "Let's just get the hell out of here til your face looks better. We'll think of a good cover story later.

But as Dean put the car in reverse, Dad suddenly appeared at Sam's window, tapping. Sam looked over at Dean like he had just been sentenced to walk his last mile, and then he rolled the window down.

"Hey boys," John started, leaning down to look into the car, smiling. "I need the Impala …" But then someone in the next room over opened their door and the light flooded out, lighting the interior of the car briefly.

And John got a good long look at his youngest boy's face. Suddenly, the silence was deafening.

"Dad …" Sam started.

But John cut him off. "Inside!" He barked. "Now!"

Sam sighed, opened his door, and climbed out, but Dean was suddenly too terrified to move. He knew this latest fuck up was going to push his father over the edge and the fallout was going to be more than he wanted to think about. Dean steeled himself as he trailed his resigned brother into the motel room.

Dad was waiting for them across the room, arms crossed, with barely concealed fury in his eyes. "Well?" he barked.

"It was my fault …" Sam started, but Dean cut him off.

"No, it was mine. I pissed off the wrong guys, and they jumped us as we were walking to the car." he explained, desperately hoping that Sam would follow his lead.

"Really." John wasn't buying it.

Dean shot his father his most sincere look, "Yes, really. I took $200 off 'em. They got a little pissed. I guess I had one too many and let 'em get the jump on us."

"Um hmm." Dad said. "And you, Sam? How many did you have?"

Sam looked up in confusion, "Hunh?"

"Don't act dumb with me, boy. How many beers did you have?"

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, "Uh, none?"

"And this happened when you two boys were together? Did I get that right?"

Dean nodded, suddenly scared where this was heading.

"So Dean, you were drunk, though apparently it wore off on the drive home because you're certainly not drunk now. And Sam, you were just … what? Daydreaming?"

Shit, Dad had them. "It wasn't like that …" He tried to explain.

"Well, that's the line of bullshit that you're both trying to feed me right now, isn't it?" He addressed Dean. "You were too drunk to see the danger coming. Sam was just … clueless. Big surprise there."

Dean was suddenly angry, "That's not what happened." He growled.

"Well, then how about you stop lying to me and start telling me the truth, hmm?"

Both boys remained silent.

John came to a decision, nodding. "Okay then." He said. "I guess this is all on you, Dean. Since you got so drunk you let your guard down. He held out his hand. "Give me the keys."

Sam looked up in confusion, "What?" he asked.

John pinned Sam with a stare. "If this is your brother's fault then he needs to accept the consequences. I'm taking the Impala back." His gaze switched to Dean. "I know we've talked about you driving drunk with your brother in the car."

Dean swallowed hard as he handed over the keys. He hadn't seen this coming. "How long?" he asked hesitantly.

"Forever. You just forfeited your right to drive her, Dean. Looks like it's the bus for you and your brother from now on. At least I'll know the person behind the wheel didn't have 'one too many.'" he said, quoting Dean.

Dean remained silent as Dad took the keys and pocketed them. There wasn't really any way to argue the way this whole thing had gone down. Dad was right. If he thought Dean was driving drunk with or without Sam in the car, that was unacceptable. People could have died.

"Wait." Sam said quietly, studying his brother's destroyed expression.

"Sam!" Dean warned. "Dad's right. I had no right to drive around drunk."

Sam smiled gently and shook his head. "You're not drunk and you know. Dad knows it too. Right Dad?"

John waited.

"It … it was me." Sam stuttered.

"Sam …" Dean warned, knowing the truth was going to piss their father off so much more.

"I'm waiting." John growled

"I was doing my homework at a table in the restaurant and some guy came up and told me three guys had dragged Dean outside and that they had a knife. They were gonna get even for him taking their money playing pool."

John turned to Dean, 'And where were you that Sam couldn't see you?"

"I-I was across the room."

John blinked, "You mean you were in the same room? Could you see your brother?"

"I don't know," Dean hedged. "I might have been hidden behind a pole or something."

"Hidden behind a pole." John repeated, and even Dean could hear how lame it sounded.

John turned back to Sam, "So you looked around for your brother and didn't see him. Then what?"

"Um, no. I didn't"

"Excuse me?"

"I, uh, I didn't look around for him. I just ran outside."

"Because a stranger told you to."

Sam hung his head. "Yes sir."

John nodded. "And then?"

Sam sighed, "And then they followed me out. There were four of them. They knocked me down and punched me few times."

"So how did you get free?"

"Dean came."

John looked at Dean, "How did you know he was in trouble?"

Without thinking, Dean explained, "I saw the guy say something to him, then I saw him get up and run out. They were right behind him."

"You SAW him?" John repeated. Dean stood silent.

"Which means he could have seen you - had he bothered to look, that is." He pinned Sam with a glare. "So they hit you and knocked you down and then Dean showed up. That it?"

Sam nodded.

John nodded back. "And your pants?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a horrified look then. Both had forgotten that detail, and Dean's eyes wandered downward immediately to see Sam's belt hanging loose and his button undone.

Sam's eyes went huge and his face turned scarlet as he turned away and hastily buckled himself back up, but Dad was upon him before he could finish. John wrapped both hands in Sam's jacket and shoved him painfully against the wall. He got right up in Sam's face until they were nose to nose. "So let me get this straight." he snarled through clenched teeth. "You allowed a stranger in a bar to lure you outside in the dark, and then you let four guys feel you up? You put your brother and yourself at risk again because why? Oh, that's right - because some man you'd never seen before told you to do it. That about right?"

"N-no! It wasn't like that!" Sam cried. "I just … I got scared! I thought they were gonna kill Dean! I wanted to help Dean!"

Dean's heart was breaking. This was all his fault and Sam had almost paid dearly. And now Dad was tearing him a new one too. He stepped forward, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "Dad." He pleaded. "Dad, it was just a mistake."

But when John whirled around and pinned Dean with his stare, Dean could tell he'd already made his decision. Sammy was going to pay big for this fuck up, and the very thought of what was coming scared Dean worse than anything else that had happened that night.


	4. Dean's Decision

"You're right, Dean." Dad said out of the blue the next morning after Sam had walked to the coffee shop next door to fetch coffee and donuts.

Dean was cautious. "About what?" All night long he'd been waiting for the second shoe to fall. He could almost see the gears in Dad's mind turning, and he didn't like the sounds they made.

"About toughening Sam up."

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God Dad had finally come to his senses. "I'll ramp up his training." he offered gratefully. I'll get him toughened up for you Dad, just - not the way you mentioned."

"No," John disagreed. "You won't."

Dean's eyes narrowed, "Why not?"

"Because your brother needs more guidance than that. All the training in the world isn't going to teach Sam what he needs to learn.

"But you said I was right?"

"You're right about not being the one to carry out Sam's … conditioning."

Dean's heart dropped at the way Dad used that word. "So what then?" he asked.

"I'll get someone else."

Dean's eyes widened, "What? No, Dad!"

"Yes. I have people in mind. They'll do it. They're tough. They'll understand exactly what your brother needs."

"Who?" Dean's world was ending.

Dad was packing up the weapons bag, "Rudy and Angelo." he said grimly.

Dean caught his breath. They'd worked a case once with Rudy and Angelo. The two cousins were the most sadistic hunters that Dean had ever met. They'd made Sam so nervous that by the end, he'd actually hid behind Dean every time they came into the room.

"No way!" Dean blurted. "Not a chance, Dad. Those two … homicidal maniacs aren't getting anywhere near my brother!"

John stopped what he was doing to glare at his son. "I don't recall asking your permission, Dean. I'm the parent here. I'll decide what's best for my son."

"You're not leaving him with those two, Dad. I mean it. No disrespect, but Sam is my family too, and I won't let you do it."

John stepped forward menacingly, "And exactly how do you plan to stop me, son?"

Dean glared at his father, trying not to hate him for the corner he was pushing Dean into. It made him feel physically ill to think about driving Sam to some remote location and roughing him up for a solid week. But the thought of what Rudy and Angelo would do in his place was positively terrifying. Sam would never survive those two, and Dean knew it. He was sure Dad knew it too, and that's why he was playing this particular card.

Dean swallowed hard, "I'll guess do it then." He said, hatefully.

But John just shook his head. "Not after the way you covered for him last night, Dean. You're too close, too invested. Sam needs a firm hand. You're not capable of treating him with the iron fists he needs."

Dean glared, "I said I'll do it. We both know that's your end game, isn't it? I'm his weak spot. It has to be me that betrays him. Isn't that what you said?" Dean turned away, trying not to vomit.

John stood looking at his son, and suddenly felt a niggle of remorse. He was sorry it had to be this way, but Dean was right. In order for John's plan to work, it had to be Dean who carried it out. Anything else would be a waste of time. "Dean …" John placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

But Dean just shrugged it off like it burned him. "Don't, Dad." He said, voice breaking. "Just … don't." He took a deep breath. "I'll do this … this thing … you ask. I'll do it for Sam - to keep him safe from those two assholes. But you can't expect me not to hate you for it."

John sighed, "Hate me all you want, Dean, if it keeps Sammy alive and with us."

Dean stepped outside so his father wouldn't see the tears staining his cheeks. Dean felt like he'd just agreed to have a piece of his heart amputated. He swiped at his eyes and looked silently around at what their world had become - another cheap motel in another drab town that needed help. There would be no thank yous from these nameless, faceless people once the gory job was done. Yet it was Sam's constant contact with those dark forces that made it necessary for Dean to do what he was about to do - betray his brother, hurt his brother ...

break his brother.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy." Dean whispered quietly to himself as another tear escaped to the corner of his eye and made its break down his cheek. "Please don't fight me on this. Please don't make it any harder than it has to be."

"You okay, Dean?" Sam's gentle hand was suddenly on Dean's shoulder, and that soft comfort was more than the older boy could bear. Dean shook his head silently and slid bonelessly down the wall of the hideous motel, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face as silent sobs wracked him.

"Dean!" Sam was shocked at the broken appearance of his big brother. Nothing ever got to Dean like this. Sam had never, ever witnessed his brother break in this way, and the sight was terrifying. Sam quickly set his packages off to the side and sank down next to his brother, placing a comforting arm around his shoulder.

"Dean? What is it?" He asked the older boy softly.

Dean struggled to get his emotions in check, but the control wouldn't come. He raised his head to look at his brother and noted the concerned expression, the eyes wet with sympathy, and his brother's gentle voice. And he wondered if this was the last time he would ever see Sam this wide-open and trusting.

"Don't hate me Sammy." Dean pleaded. "Please don't you end up hating me. I-I couldn't go on if I thought you-you hated me."

Sam was stunned. "Dean? I couldn't." He tried to reassure the broken figure before him. "Why would you even think that? I could never hate you."

Dean smiled then, through his tears, "Remember that, okay? Just … please remember that, Sammy."


	5. Sam's Suspicions

Sam stared at his brother. "It's Dad, isn't it?" He asked softly. "He's planning something, isn't he? What's he going to do, drive me out to the woods somewhere and leave me? Am I officially out of the family now?"

Dean couldn't speak.

Dean couldn't speak, and his pain was more than Sam could bear. He smiled then, at Dean, and lowered his head gently to his brother's shoulder. "Whatever it is, Dean, I know it's not coming from you, okay? Whatever he's got … planned … for me," and damned if Sam didn't shudder when he thought about it, "I'll be fine. I promise. You need to stop worrying."

"Dean?"

But Dean couldn't pull his shit together enough to answer his brother. He could only sit there on the cold cement of the motel stoop and swallow over and over, trying to get his voice to not betray him.

Sam hugged him then, "Listen, wherever Dad leaves me, I'll come find you, okay? I promise." Sam sighed, "and if he's planning to … to shoot me or something," Sam's voice sort of drifted faraway with that thought, "Well then, I'll come back and haunt the hell out of him." He chuckled sadly and shoulder-bumped Dean. "You can help me, 'kay?"

"Sammy. Stop it." Dean whispered.

"I'm sorry." Sam murmured back absently, lost in the thought of all the terrible fates that could possibly await him.

"Hey Dean?"

"What, Sam?"

"Should … should I just bolt? Should I Ieave? Would it be … better? Easier?" Sam was serious. "I could catch up with you later."

And the more Dean thought about that question, the more conflicted he became. But before he could answer, the door to the motel room opened and Dad stepped out, taking in the scene before him. "I was wondering what happened to breakfast?" he said, studying his two grown sons sitting shoulder to shoulder on the ground up against the wall. "Everything okay out here?"

Sam looked up at his father with accusing eyes, but he remained silent.

"Something you want to say to me, Sam?" John asked.

"Nothing I could say would make any difference." Sam finally answered, resigned.

John studied his youngest son, "No. Not at this point, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam looked up, suddenly angry. "So what's the big secret? What's the plan? Am I supposed to be dead by this time tomorrow or something?"

"Sam …" Dean tried to interrupt, but Sam stopped him.

"It's fine Dean. Whatever's coming, it's not on you."

John sighed. "Stop being such a drama queen, Sam. Nobody's dying on my watch. I'll take whatever steps I have to in order to prevent that very thing, rest assured." He reached down and retrieved the cup carrier and the bag from the pavement. "Now come on inside and eat. We need to hit the road. It's nearly check-out time." He pushed back into the room, leaving the boys alone.

Sam looked at Dean and smiled sadly, "Come on. Let's go eat. I got your favorite - lots of sprinkles - just like a girl." He tried to grin, but it fell flat.

Dean swiped at his eyes, "Bitch." he managed, snorting.

"Jerk," Sam responded appropriately, as they struggled to their feet and returned to the room.

But as Sam sat on his bed, trying to eat his donut and drink his tepid coffee, he couldn't stop thinking about what was coming. He watched Dean and his father silently, seeing grief on both their faces. Neither one would look him in the eye, and the room suddenly felt entirely too small - like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He started first to hyperventilate and then to choke, and from there it just all went down hill. Sam was suddenly so terrified at what his future held that he couldn't breathe. His donut dropped to the floor, followed by his coffee, as he slipped to his hands and knees beside the bed.

"Sam!" Dean was the first to reach him. "Sammy! What's wrong?" He wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him to his knees, gazing into his eyes. "You choking?" he asked desperately.

Sam shook his head and tried to speak, "Can't … breathe …"

Dean nodded, "Okay, Sammy." he said calmly, "Eyes on me, okay?"

Sam nodded.

"Look at me. Just at me, okay? Nothing else. Now take a deep breath. Come on, Sam, deep breaths, you can do it. Just like I'm doing, okay?"

But Sam suddenly couldn't bear to be on his knees beside this bed in this room that was closing in on him. He pushed Dean away and struggled to his feet. He staggered toward the door, but his legs gave out before he could reach it. He fell across the small table and clattered to the floor amidst an avalanche of newspapers, his laptop, and the weapons bag. And when John leaned in to offer him a hand up, Sam scampered back against the wall and huddled in the corner, wheezing desperately, eyes huge and filled with terror.

"Sammy." Dean slid in silently behind him. "Sammy, it's okay. I got you. Just calm down and concentrate on taking one deep breath, okay?" Dean's arms came around him, warm and comforting, "Just one, Sam. Just take one deep breath, okay. You can do it. For me? please?"

And Sam did. He did it for Dean because Dean asked him to and because it was ingrained in him to do whatever Dean asked, whenever he asked it. Sam took one long, deep breath, and from there, he was able to speak again.

"I don't wanna die, Dean!" he moaned, clutching at his brother in terror. "Please. I don't wanna die. I'm not ready. Please don't let me die, Dean. Please!"

Dean hugged him close, arms wrapped around him and one hand on his chest, the other running comfortingly through his hair, "Shhh. Sammy. You're not gonna die, okay? Nobody's dying here. Shhh. You're gonna be okay, Sammy. I promise."

And as Dean held his little brother - the best and truest thing in Dean's life - and helped him through his panic attack, his eyes met his father's in cold disregard. Dean suddenly hated the man that was causing all this, hated him more than he'd ever loved him, and that thought scared him to death.

When Sam was finally quiet, just hitching softly in Dean's arms as he gently rocked them both back and forth, Dean spoke, "Come on, Sammy. Let's get you off this hard floor, okay?" When Sam simply nodded, Dean helped him struggle to his feet and guided him easily into a chair. He stayed on his knees before his brother, looking into his eyes and ruffling his hair. "You okay now? Feeling better?"

Sam sniffed and nodded, his head down - eyes on the floor.

"Good," Dean smiled. "That's better. It's all gonna be alright Sam, you can believe me." He said out of habit and before he really thought about what he was promising.

"Here, son." John said, setting an opened can of grape soda in front of Sam. "Try to take a drink. It will help."

Sam picked up the soda and took a large swallow, making a face.

Dean noticed, "What's wrong?"

"Taste's funny." he said, wrinkling his nose.

"Funny how?"

"Like … bitter." Sam said, and then it dawned on him. He looked up at his father in horror. "You spiked it!" He said disbelievingly. "Why, Dad? What did you put in it?"

Dean grimaced and took a taste for himself. Sam was right. Dammit, he was right.

John just gazed steadily back at Sam. "I said, drink up, Sam. Now do it."

Sam locked eyes with Dean in horror. He shook his head. "No!" he said, pushing the offending drink away. "No way!"

Dean turned on his father, eyes shooting daggers, "What the hell, Dad?" he barked, but then he stopped.

Dad had a strange look in his eyes as he turned to Dean and spoke. "We need to get on the road earlier than anticipated if we're going to meet up with that help we talked about earlier." he said meaningfully.

Dean swallowed in disbelief, pleading with his eyes for Dad to back down, but John was adamant. "Get your brother to drink that Dean, or we're making a little side trip."

Dean turned back around to Sam and found him gazing at him questioningly. And as the older boy looked into Sam's haunted eyes and thought about what awaited him should they make that side trip that Dad was threatening, he made a decision. He reached a shaky hand out and retrieved the soda, placing it back in Sam's hand.

"Drink it down, Sammy." He said, brokenly. "Please."

Something in Sam's eyes changed then. He stared at Dean in disbelief. "What?"

Dean's eyes closed and he swallowed back his grief. "Just drink it Sam, please. It's okay." He opened his eyes then and looked into Sam's, "You can tr-trust me, Sammy. Drink up, okay?"

Sam looked like he was going to refuse, and Dean had no idea what he was going to do if he did, but then the younger boy gazed intently at Dean and raised the can to his lips. He took a sip and tried to set it back down, but Dean stopped him. "All of it, Sam," He said gently. "The whole thing."

Sam's eyes watered then, and his look turned to one of betrayal, but he raised the can again - this time throwing back his head and tossing back the whole can. He set it back down empty on the table, not looking at Dean.

Dean tried to catch his eyes then, "Thanks Sammy." He said, brushing away a tear from his brother's cheek. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Sam?"

But Sam wouldn't look at him again, choosing instead to stare toward the bathroom as his eyes grew heavy and his body began to relax. Within minutes, he was staring blankly at the wall, oblivious to everything that was happening around him.

Dean stayed parked between his brother's knees for the whole debacle, watching his descent into a drug-induced stupor.

"Sam?' He shook the boy gently. "Sammy? You in there?"

But when Sam turned sleepy eyes his way, they were absent of recognition, and Dean had a sinking suspicion that he was looking into the face of his future.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked angrily, standing and rounding on his father.


	6. The Ordeal

"Tranquilizer." John said shortly. "It'll make this trip easier on all of us. Trust me."

Dean stared, "Us? I thought I was taking Sam to the cabin."

John shook his head, "Not a chance. I'm driving. I'll drop you both off, then I'm taking the car. Just a little added insurance against anyone getting the idea of, say, driving off with their little brother in tow. Also," John glared back at Dean, "I have a few safeguards in place. So if you're thinking of hanging out at that cabin and having a little vacation with Sam, you can think again. I'll be checking in. And I have other people checking in. And the first report I get that you're not holding up your end of the bargain, Rudy and Angelo will be dropping by. Do I make myself clear?"

Dean shot a hate-filled look at his father. "It's good to know how much you trust me, Dad."

"You've shown me how far I can trust you when it comes to Sam, Dean. I'm going out on a limb here, giving you a chance to step up, a chance for Sam to get with the damned program. I could use you both on a hunt this week, but I'm sending you off to do this instead." He pinned Dean with a stare. "Don't you let me down. Don't let your brother down. He needs this, and you know it."

Dean turned away then, shaking his head. His eyes fell on Sam. The younger boy was sitting so still, so out of it. It hurt Dean to see him this way. Sammy was always in motion, always moving. And when it was just him and Dean, Sam was usually always smiling too. Now he'd been reduced to this … this … vegetable. And judging by the swift manner that the medication had taken effect and the powerful impact it had made, Dean suspected that he'd gotten a fairly large dose.

"How much did you give him?" He asked, swallowing hard.

John sighed, "Enough." he said. "He'll be out of it for the whole trip if we're lucky."

Dean winced at that, like Sam was something to be tolerated and not cherished. Dean moved over to kneel in front of his gentle little brother and look him in the eye. "Hey Sammy." he said softly, searching for a sign of recognition. Sam turned his head at Dean's voice and stared at him blankly. A line of drool dripped from the corner of his mouth and ran down his slender neck.

Dean's eyes watered as he fetched a washcloth and wiped it carefully away. Sam would hate this. He was always so particular about his appearance - showering twice a day sometimes, blow-drying his hair. Sam made sure that his clothes were always clean, which was quite the feat considering that he only owned a few shirts, two pairs of jeans and a sad assortment of socks and underwear that weren't even enough to get him through a week at a time. And Sam being Sam, anytime he wandered off to the laundromat, he always took Dean's things too.

"I'm so sorry, little bro" Dean whispered. "I'll think of a way out of this for you. I promise. I just couldn't … couldn't let those two assholes anywhere near you, Sam. I couldn't."

"You done changing his diaper?" John barked. "Then give me a hand loading up the car." He tossed the weapons bag to Dean who turned in time to just barely catch it. Had he missed, it would have hit Sam square on, no doubt knocking him to the floor.

"Watch it!" Dean growled, unthinkingly.

John glowered. "Don't you forget who's in charge here, boy. You start giving me shit, and you'll be in the trunk by the time we get there. You hear me? I'll push your brother out and keep right on driving. Let someone else pick up the pieces."

Dean couldn't believe this was really their father saying these things, but he'd performed the tests himself in the night - whispering Christo, sprinkling holy water on the man while he slept, and poking him on the toe with a silver knife.

Nothing.

This was Dad, no doubt about it. But Dean was now certain the man was slowly losing his mind. Dad had always been hardcore, but he'd never drugged either of them before, never threatened to toss them from the car or into the trunk. He'd never threatened to leave either of them alone with two outright headcases just to see what would happen.

Dean set the weapons bag down and pulled Sam gently to his feet. "Come on, Sammy. Let's get you comfortable first." He waited to see if Sam would need to be supported to the car, but apparently, all he needed was someone to guide him, which Dean carefully did. He held his arm at the elbow and walked slowly beside him. But when he stopped to open the back car door, Dad stopped him.

"Up front, both of you." He barked. "I want you where I can keep an eye on you."

Dean grimaced, but remained silent. He moved to the front door, opened it, and situated his brother carefully inside. "I'll be right back, buddy, okay?" But Sam gave no response, sliding slowly to the side instead. "Whoops! Hold up there, Sam. Let's get you back upright."

John slid behind the wheel just then, "Chop chop, Dean. Get a move on. It's time to go."

Dean glared at him, but said nothing. He propped his brother carefully against the back of the seat then shut the door. He headed back inside and grabbed the weapons bag and his duffle, tossing them both in the trunk and slamming it harder than necessary.

Then he climbed back in beside his brother, angling Sam so his back was against Dean's chest, his head resting comfortably on Dean's shoulder, then he leaned back so Sam was reclined.

"You okay like this buddy?" Dean asked softly, nose to nose with his brother. Dean thought he saw a flicker of … something … in Sam's eyes then, but it might just have been his imagination Sam just continued to stare at Dean without blinking until Dean was forced to look away in discomfort. He patted Sam on the hand. "It's gonna wear off soon, Sammy. Don't worry. You'll be back to your old pain-in-the-ass self again in no time."

The trio drove for three hours straight before stopping. By that time, both John and Dean needed bathroom breaks, and Dean figured Sam did too, although he had no idea how they were going to manage that magic feat. They stopped at a little diner off the beaten path. It was just before the dinner rush, and the place was nearly deserted, for which Dean was grateful. Sam was still out of it, sleeping most of the way on Dean's shoulder. And when Dean shook him awake and got him out of the car to stretch his legs, Sam tilted his head forward and vomited all down his front.

"Shit Sammy!" Dean mourned. "I didn't know that shit was making you nauseous. I guess you couldn't tell me, hunh?" Dean led him to the trunk of the Impala and reached inside for the washcloths he'd stolen from the motel. He soaked one with bottled water and used it to wipe Sam's face and neck. Then he carefully pulled his brother's hoodie over his head and switched it out for a clean t-shirt from Sam's duffle. He held the water bottle up to his brother's mouth.

"Here Sammy. Can you rinse and spit for me?"

But Sam couldn't. All he could do was look at Dean woefully, as his brother held the bottle to his mouth, tipped his head back, and massaged his throat as the few drops of liquid went down.

"Damn, Sammy." Dean noted, "Dad really dosed you didn't he? Shit should have started to wear off by now." He studied Sam as he stood leaning against the car where Dean had placed him. He looked like he wanted to say something, and Dean stepped in close.

"What is it, buddy? You wanna tell me something?"

Silence.

"You wanna try to use the can, Sam?" Dean asked, and wanted to die a million deaths when a pink flush flooded the boy's face and neck. He pulled the younger boy into a hug then, gripping him tightly. "It's okay, Sammy. Don't be embarrassed, please? Come on, we've done this kind of stuff a million times right?"

Dean led him carefully to the door of the diner and tugged him over the threshold. Sam resisted just a bit at that, and Dean took that as a hopeful sign that the fucking drug was finally beginning to wear off. He accompanied Sam into the stall and did what he had to do to help his brother relieve himself. Then he stood them both at the sink and washed both his hands and Sam's.

Another diner entered the bathroom while they stood there at the sink, Dean washing Sam's hands for him, and gave them both an odd look. Sam made a sound then, and Dean looked up to see the humiliation painting his face.

Dean swallowed hard. "Don't you worry about him, Sam. He's nobody. He's got no idea that you're secretly Batman."

As they exited the bathroom, Dean saw Dad sitting at a table, quietly eating a cheeseburger. He didn't feel like joining him though, choosing instead to wait in line with Sam and get their food to go. He carefully juggled the bag, the drinks, and his brother as they made their way back to the Impala. Dean spread the food out on the hood of the old car, and set about trying to help his brother drink some juice and eat a few chicken fries.

Dean eyed Sam with a smile, Moment of truth, Sammy." He said, wiggling a chicken fry in front of his brother's face. "You want this?" he grinned.

But Sam only stared back woefully, the muscles in his throat working convulsively.

Dean's grin disappeared, and he moved in close. "What Sammy? What are you trying to tell me, hunh?"

Sam lifted his hand with difficulty, and it landed on Dean's arm. He stared at it resting there, like it belonged to someone else. Then he lifted his head and looked straight at his brother. "H-hate … h-hate … this."

Dean's eyes softened in sympathy, and he swallowed back tears.

"H-hate …"

"I know, Sammy. I know you hate this. I'm so sorry, buddy. It'll wear off soon, I promise."

Sam's eyes filled with tears then, and two of them overflowed and ran down his cheeks. "H-hate …" He struggled.

Dean waited. He could tell Sam had more to say. "Hate what, Sammy? What do you hate, buddy?"

Sam looked right into Dean's eyes, "Y-you. H-hate you."


	7. At the Cabin by the Lake

Dean took a step back. He felt like he'd just been hit in the chest with a round of rock salt. He opened his mouth to reply, but Dad's sudden appearance behind him stayed his tongue.

"Pack it up, boys. Time to get moving."

Dean looked over to meet Sam's eyes and saw real fear there. The boy managed a few shaky steps backward, sliding along the Impala's side. But when he reached the end where the sleek, smooth metal met the grill, he went down hard on his back. Unable to use his lifeless arms to break his fall, Sam's head bounced off the hard asphalt of the parking lot with a sickening thud.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, rushing forward an instant too late to hinder the impact of his brother's skull with the unforgiving pavement. He gathered Sam up in his lap and pulled his chin toward him.

"Sam! Look at me!" He ordered, gazing into his brother's eyes to check his pupils.

Sam's eyes were wide open and shocked, only now there was an element of pain tossed into the mix as well. He met Dean's gaze with what looked achingly like blame, and Dean could barely stand what he saw there.

Dean's voice broke. "Shit Sammy. Can this fucking day get any worse?"

"Is he okay?" John sighed, moving to stand over them both. He knelt down before his boys, looking at Sam. "Sam, you alright?"

But Sam wouldn't meet his father's eyes, choosing instead to close his own, a single tear leaking out one corner.

John addressed Dean, "Probably a good idea to keep him off his feet til his head clears." He said accusingly.

Dean looked up then, in disbelief. "It was probably a better idea for you to not drug him to the fucking gills with whatever the fuck that was. That was more than a damned tranquilizer and you know it. The kid can't feel his fucking face. He can't use his arms and legs. What the fuck is wrong with you, Dad?"

Dean saw the flash of anger roll across his father's face like a thundercloud. It was there one moment and gone the next once John realized that they were huddled in a parking lot that was quickly filling up with the dinner crowd.

"Everything okay?" One older couple stopped and stood looking down at Dean with his little brother sprawled across his lap. "Do you folks needs some help?" The man asked, pulling out his flip phone. "Should I call 911?"

John stepped forward then and gathered Sam up in his arms, pasting on his most charming smile. "That's not necessary." He said in a concerned voice. "My boy's just down with the flu. We've been on the road awhile. I guess it got to him." He addressed Dean. "I told you we should have stopped a few miles back there, son." John settled Sam gently in the back seat and turned to the good Samaritans. "I sure do appreciate you stopping to offer help though." He held out his hand. "Not everyone would do that these days."

The elderly man beamed and shook John's outstretched hand. "No problem, son." He said. "Hope your boy gets to feeling better. That flu that's going around this time - it's nothing to fool around with."

John agreed amiably. "That it isn't. You're right about that. We got about another 20 miles and then we'll get him to bed." He winked. "Thanks again." John shot Dean a warning look and moved to the driver's door. "Time to go, Dean." He said. "Let's get your brother home."

Dean stood shakily up and slid silently into the front passenger seat. And as the couple walked away, he heard the wife tell her husband what a charming young man and studious father John seemed to be.

But Dean knew the truth - that the father who had raised them had something seriously wrong upstairs. He no longer trusted the man to make good decisions, safe decisions. And he suddenly realized that he had to get himself and his brother away somehow - before something really, really bad happened.

Dean sat thinking these thoughts as they pulled up in front of the secluded cabin that John had chosen for Sam's conditioning. John killed the engine and sat looking straight ahead. Dean risked a glance in his direction.

"Well?" the older man barked.

Dean jumped. "Well what?"

"Well, are you getting out of the car, Dean?"

Dean hesitated, suddenly missing the man John used to be, "Dad …" he started.

"Don't, Dean. Just don't." John sounded suddenly tired. He pulled a slip of paper from his wallet. "This is the number where I'll be if you need me." He handed it to Dean. "But let's be very clear. I don't expect to hear from either of you. What I do expect is for Sam to be a different person when I pick you both up next week. Do you understand me?"

Dean just stared.

"I expect you to take him in hand and beat this nonsense out of him if you have to. Am I making myself clear? I don't care what shape he's in when I get him back as long as he's hard like a hunter needs to be. I don't ever want to see anymore of what I saw on the trip up here. No more cuddling. No more coddling. No more Sam in your lap. No more leading him around a damn diner like a freaking lap dog. I want to see your brother grown up and independent. I want him making his own decisions and accepting the consequences. Do you hear me?"

Dean nodded, stunned into speechlessness.

"Now I tossed an extra bag in the trunk. It has some … things you might need. Don't forget to grab it."

"What things?" Dean whispered.

John stared straight back. "Rope, duct tape, taser. There's more of the drug in there. It's the same thing they use to break prisoners. Use it if you need it."

Dean swallowed back bile, trying not to gag. Dad had definitely left the fucking building.

"And Dean? I meant what I said. If you fail me on this, if you fail your brother, I'll send him so far away for his next conditioning that you won't see him again for years. I don't think you want that. But this … he motioned toward Sam where he lay helpless in the backseat. "This has to stop."

Dean suddenly couldn't get himself and Sam out of the car fast enough. He slid out the passenger side and reached back for the keys. Unlocking the trunk, he pulled out Sam's duffle, his own duffle, and then reached far in the back for an unfamiliar bag that he hadn't noticed before. Zipping it open, he glanced inside and fought back the feeling of nausea that rose in his throat.

"At least we'll have weapons if we need 'em." he muttered, knowing he'd die himself before ever using anything in this hateful bag on his little brother.

He dropped everything on the ground behind the Impala and stepped forward to retrieve Sam. Once he had him out of the car and leaning precariously against his shoulder, Dean handed the keys back to Dad.

"Take care, boys." John had the nerve to say as he peeled away.

Dean watched him go, breathing a sigh of relief. He turned his head to take in Sam's face where it hovered just inches from his own. Sam was propped up on Dean's shoulder, Dean's arm stretching steadily around his back. The younger boy's head hung forward, hair hiding his face, but Dean could tell he was beginning to come around.

"Heya Sammy?" Dean jostled him a bit. "You alive in there?"

Sam raised his head and angled it toward his brother, his hair swaying. He stared at Dean's nose.

Dean snorted, "A little higher up there, little bro."

Sam's eyes slowly traveled their way up the bridge of Dean's nose to his eyes, but Dean still didn't see much recognition there. He gave Sam a reassuring smile. "Let's go get you comfy, Sammy okay? Get you cozy and then get something solid in you. You've been running on two bites of donut all day, dude."

When Sam didn't respond, Dean half-dragged, half-walked Sam to the cabin and pulled him up the steps. Dean slipped the key out of his pocket and wrestled the door open, throwing it wide.

"Shit." He mourned, sadly, taking in the dilapidated condition of the interior. Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust, and there was a pervasive smell of mildew everywhere. Dean eyed the rickety, uncomfortable-looking couch with trepidation. No way was he trusting that thing to hold Sam. Instead, he dragged his brother over to the bed in the far corner and lowered him gently down.

"Well," Dean sighed, "It ain't no Holiday Inn, Sammy, but then again, when is it ever, right? Dad sure believes in rustic living. I'll give him that much." He studied Sam as he lay limply where Dean placed him. "I gotta bring in the bags, and then we'll get this mess worked out, okay?"

Sam just blinked blearily.

Dean sighed. "Okay then. Be right back, buddy."

When Dean returned, he made care to bolt the door behind him. He dropped salt lines everywhere that required them, and then he moved to the kitchen to inspect the cupboards. True to his word, Dad had the cupboards stocked with food.

"At least there's that" Dean muttered, digging out a can of chicken noodle soup. He rummaged around until he found a dusty pan, two mugs and some dish liquid, and then used a paper towel to wash them clean. He put the soup to heat on the stove and moved to sit beside his brother.

"Okay Sammy," He said, dragging his brother into a seated position and propping him against the headboard. "As much as I'd love to let you sleep this off, I'm a little worried about what little surprises Dad might have planned for us. We need to get you mobile and get the hell out of here ASAP, you understand? That means food and a shower and some really strong, black coffee. Got it?"

To Dean's surprise, Sam looked up then - actually looked at him. His head still looked too heavy for his neck, and drool still dribbled gracelessly down his chin, But at least the real Sam had returned home from the sea.

"Dohn …" Sam slurred, eyes pleading with Dean's.

Dean leaned forward, "Again, Sammy?"

Sam tried to finish his thought, "Dea ... n. Dohn …"

Dean shook his head, "One more time, little brother. Okay?"

Sam huffed in frustration, and Dean tried to hide his smile. If Sam was feeling good enough to pull the bitchface, things were definitely looking up.

"Dohn … dohn … t. Don't."

"Gotcha. Don't. Don't what, Sam?"

Silence.

Sammy?"

"Don't … dr-drug. Please. No … more. Sick."

Dean's eyes widened. Sam had heard everything John had told Dean to use on him. He pulled Sam close.

"No way I would ever do anything like that to you. That fucking bag's going in the lake at the first opportunity. You hear me?"

Sam stared.

"I mean it. If I'd known how much Dad had put in that damned soda - had known how bad it would hit you - I'd have never …" Dean stopped then. It was no wonder Sam was scared to be alone with him. He'd already betrayed him once. He swallowed. "I think Dad's gone off the edge, Sam. the lights are still on, but the people left a while ago, you know? I'm going to get us out of this. Don't you worry. But first … food."

Dean moved to the kitchen and poured a mug of soup for Sam and one for himself. He tested them with a dipped finger and decided they weren't too hot. He dropped a straw into Sam's, then he sat in front of his brother on the bed and helped him sip the warm broth.

Two hours later, after Dean had helped him eat and helped him in and out of a cool shower, Sam was able to sit in a chair at the rickety kitchen table and nurse a mug of strong, black coffee. Dean still had to help him hold it, but at least he had enough control to sit up by himself. He was talking too, though not like his old, chatty self.

"Talk to me, Sam. I'm getting tired of hearing my own voice."

Sam stared, "What do … you want me … to … say?" He stammered with difficulty.

Dean figured he deserved that. He shrugged and smiled, "Dunno. Anything. Bitch at me. Call me a jerk. Anything you want. I just want to hear your voice, okay?"

Sam looked down at his coffee.

"How you feeling? Let's start there, hm?"

"Bad." Sam stated, sighing. "Head feels … awful."

"You got a headache?"

"No, just foggy … can't think … right."

"Welcome to your first hangover, little bro." Dean said with sympathy. "The fog will lift eventually. You'll be back to your usual geeky self in no time."

Sam looked away. And stared, his face turning pale.

Dean followed his line of vision. Sam was staring at the unfamiliar bag. That fucking bag.

"Sam …"

Sam looked up then, his face broken, "Ropes? A taser? Did Dad really … say … that?"

It was Dean's turn to look away. He couldn't meet his brother's eyes. He nodded.

"I didn't … think he really hate-hated me … that much. Guess I was … wrong."

"Sam, I'd die myself before I'd ever ... you know that. You have to know that. I think Dad's just ... he's just ... something's wrong with him. That's why we can't stay here. We gotta move, Sammy. Soon as you're able. So drink up, little bro, and let's get the hell out of Dodge, okay?"


	8. Almost Away

Dean kept a close eye on Sam as they paddled the canoe across the lake. The younger boy was still a little uncoordinated, and there were no life jackets anywhere that Dean could find. He'd made Sam take the bow so he could make sure he didn't just topple out and disappear into the chilly depths below.

Both boys wore every shirt they owned, layered for protection against the chill of September in the mountains, but in the dim pre-dawn, it wasn't enough, and Dean worried about what the midnight hours would bring. Dad wasn't kidding when he said this place was secluded. Theirs looked to be the only cabin on the lake, and Dean had chosen this way out as the safest way to avoid running into anyone his father might send to check up on them. That's why he had scuttled the remaining rowboat with one well-placed blast from his .45.

"Almost there, Sam. How you holdin' up?"

"Good." Sam chattered, shivering a bit.

"I bet climbing that monster hill will warm us up."

Sam looked up at the monstrous challenge that lay ahead of them and snorted, "Dean, that's not a hill. It's a freaking mountain range. You sure this was the only option?"

"Better safe than sorry, Sammy. Who knows what Dad might've had waiting for us back on the road. I'll take a mountain range over two psychotic cousins and a roll of duct tape any day. And once we get over that," Dean reasoned, "I'll have cell service again. One quick S.O.S. to Bobby and we're home free little bro."

"Central heat." Sam breathed.

"Cheeseburgers." Dean mourned.

"Dean?"

"Hunh?"

"You think Bobby will … will let us stay? I mean, Dad's gonna be PISSED."

"Dude? Are you kidding? Bobby loves us. He gets one look at that freaking taser, and it'll all be over. I promise."

"I hope so. I think my days are going to be pretty numbered if Dad gets a hold of me again."

Dean grimaced. He'd had that same thought, but he wasn't about to voice it out loud. "It'll all be good, little bro. You and me, chillin' at Bobby's, eating pancakes every morning. I can already smell the syrup."

"Shut up. I'm hungry."

Dean snorted, "Excuse me? What have you done with Sam?"

"What? I'm hungry? I get hungry." Sam turned to look back at his brother and nearly fell out of the boat."

Easy!" Dean ordered. "Eyes front!"

Sam sulked. "You don't have to yell, you know."

" I know. I'm sorry. I just don't want you to fall out, is all. You're still a little tipsy there."

"I'm fine."

"I know. Just … keep your eyes on the prize, okay? Don't make me kick your geeky ass."

"I think I hit shore." Sam noted, tapping his oar on sand.

"About damn time. My freakin' arm is killing me." Dean added, relieved. He maneuvered them as close to the beach as possible before jumping out and pulling the boat to shore. Both boys grabbed their duffle bags and the bedding that they'd rolled tight and tied with rope to fashion impromptu sleeping bags. Dean grabbed the extra bag that they'd unaffectionately taken to calling the "fucking bag of shit." The freaking thing weighed a ton.

Sam glanced over. "Why'd we bring that anyway?" He made a face.

"Some of it could come in handy." Dean replied absently.

When Sam didn't reply, Dean looked up and froze at the look on his brother's face. Dammit. Dean had never seen looks like the ones Sam had been shooting him since the drug incident. Sam stood looking at Dean like he was just waiting for his brother to tie him to a tree and leave him there.

"I didn't mean it like that, Sam. Damn. Don't look at me like that."

Sam swallowed and cleared his throat, "Like what?" He looked away, suddenly busy with the boat.

"Like you're afraid of me. You're killing me here."

Sam just nodded. "Sorry." He offered.

"Let's see how far we can get today, okay?" Dean sighed. "I don't wanna spend any more nights out here then we have too. It's gonna be cold as balls out here tonight."

Sam hoisted his duffle up onto his shoulder and slipped both arms through the straps like it was a backpack. It was awkward, but it freed up his hands for climbing. "You wanna tie a sleeping roll on me?" Sam asked, turning around.

Dean looked up and took in Sam's idea. "Hey! Pretty nifty trick there, Sammy. Yeah, here hold up. I"ll tie you. You tie me."

Once the boys got all their gear stowed neatly on their backs, they started toward the back of the beach, and it wasn't long until they were both glad they had both hands free. The land tilted upward at an alarming rate, and they were suddenly pulling themselves up by grabbing tree branches and using their hands to steady each other as they navigated over the massive boulders that littered the rough terrain.

"Well, this sucks." Dean panted, as they reached the top of the first rise. "Come on. Let's rest a minute before I fall over dead." He glanced at his watch to see they'd been climbing steadily for over two hours.

Sam huffed, "No … argument … here." He flopped down on the nearest fallen log.

Dean glanced at the position of the sun in the sky. "Looks like breakfast to me." He said, slipping his pack off and reaching in. He came up with two water bottles and two packs of toaster pastries. "Strawberry or cherry?" He asked.

Sam grimaced, "Ugh. Neither. Got a granola bar or something?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but he was secretly amused. Sam was such a girl. But he dug deeper in the bag, pulling out a box of cereal bars. "This any better?" He held it up.

Sam's eyes lit up. "Yeah. Those are awesome. Thanks!"

"Yep. You're a girl." Dean noted, tossing him the box.

"Shut up jerk."

Dean smiled, he'd missed this. "Make me, bitch."

"Maybe later, I'm too busy trying to remember how to breathe."

"If you figure it out, call me." Dean started. "Oh! That reminds me!" He pulled out his flip phone and turned it on. "Dammit!"

"Still no signal?"

"Nothing. Fucking mountains."

"Hey, look. You can see the cabin from here." Sam suddenly grew quiet. "Uh, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean wheezed.

"There's … there's a car parked in the driveway, and it's not the Impala."

Dean was on his feet in an instant. From the top of the rise, they had a birds-eye view of the cabin and its surrounding grounds. Sure enough, there was a car he didn't recognize. "You got the binoculars?" He asked.

Sam dug them out and handed them to his brother.

Dean focused on the car in the drive. It was empty. Then he examined the grounds around the cabin.

Nothing.

When he saw movement by the boat dock, he focused his attention there and swore. "Fuck!"

"Who is it?" Sam asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

"The fucking psycho cousins. Dad wasn't kidding." Dean watched the two figures as they dragged the bow of the scuttled boat out of the water. He cursed his own stupidity for not sinking the thing entirely. Now they'd know that Dean and Sam had crossed the lake to make their escape. And as Dean stood and watched, one lifted his high-powered rifle and sighted it in. He scanned the rise right where Dean stood looking back at him.

"Shit! Fuck! Sam! Down!" He ordered, throwing himself to the ground. Sam followed in quick repetition, but Dean could tell the man had seen them. He trained his rifle right on the spot where Dean had been standing a second earlier and fired off a shot.

The bark on the tree next to Dean exploded practically in his ear as he rolled desperately to the side.

"Dean!" He heard Sam yell.

But that was the last thing Dean heard as he slipped sideways down the steep embankment and disappeared over the edge.


	9. And Miles to Go

"It's okay, Sam. I'm okay." Dean reassured his brother, who looked like he was two seconds away from another panic attack.

Dean huddled against the rock wall, his feet planted firmly on a ledge that was no more than two feet wide. But two feet was all he'd needed. It had broken his fall, which was good, because below him, the cliff dropped off steep, plunging into a ravine about sixty feet below. Sam lay on his stomach, peering over the side where he'd thought his brother had disappeared forever.

"How am I gonna get you back up?" Sam worried.

Dean examined his surroundings, "I don't think you can. I think I'm gonna have to shimmy around and meet you on the other side, okay?"

Sam looked like he was going to be sick. "Maybe I can come down there?"

"No!" Dean disagreed. "No! This thing isn't going to support us both. Trust me, Sam. Just toss me the bags and meet me around the horn, okay?"

"I got the bags." Sam offered, "Just go - before the thing gives way."

"Sam!" Dean was losing his patience. "Toss me the freaking bags. I'm good. I'll meet up with you again in like an hour, maybe a little more."

But Sam was adamant. "You better get going, Dean. I got the bags. I'll see you on the other side." And he was gone.

"Dammit Sam, you stubborn little bitch!" Dean grumbled. But he began making his way carefully along the ledge, holding fast to the small pieces of scrub and sharp outcroppings as he went. He studiously tried to avoid looking down, knowing that, if he slipped and fell, Sam would be alone with the two psychos that Dad had sent after them, and that simply wasn't an option. Dean knew they'd give chase, and after the almost lethal shot that had nearly taken him out, he had no questions about their intentions.

"Fucking rednecks and their fucking firearms." he muttered. "Dammit. I hate camping."

###

Above him, Sam was having his own troubles. He'd stayed low to the ground as he gathered their bags and supplies, and had made his way into the woods without further incident. But the massive dose of narcotics he'd ingested less than 24 hours ago was still slowing him down. He sweated profusely off and on, and his vision went blurry every now and again. His limbs felt rubbery, like he didn't have complete control, and he suddenly felt nauseous. Realizing that he hadn't had time to eat or drink anything, he found a comfortable position against a fallen log and rooted through his bag for the cereal bars. He ate half of one before the nausea was on him full force, and then he was back on his hands and knees, vomiting for the second time in less than a day.

Sam was miserable. He felt sick and terrified at the same time. Add in a little betrayal, and it was almost more than he could bear. And regardless of how confidently Dean tried to play it, Sam still wasn't 100 percent sure that Bobby wouldn't turn him back over to Dad. At twenty years old, Dean was safe from Dad. Sam was still a minor, just sixteen, and he shuddered to think of the fate that awaited him if Dad ever got him alone again. Sam knew he was running for his life. Whatever had happened to Dad, it had focused its evil intentions on Sam, and just the thought of it terrified him more than anything in his young life so far.

Sam forced himself to his feet, hoisted the three bags, and stumbled on, heading toward Dean and safety.

He hoped.

###

Dean was finally able to find an area stable enough to pull himself up to higher ground. If his calculations were right, he should be close to meeting up with Sam, which was good. Not having his brother in sight wasn't sitting well with Dean, especially knowing that at least two people were gunning for them. Dean wanted to be in a position to take up the rear and neutralize any threats that were tagging along behind them before they could reach his brother. Sam didn't deserve this new, cruel treatment he was experiencing at the hands of their father, and Dean was determined to make sure that it didn't affect him anymore than it already had.

And while he didn't want to admit it, Dean had also seen his brother's hands shaking and noticed the tremors that still rolled through his back and legs when he thought Dean wasn't looking. Whatever was in that stuff that Dad had dosed him with, it hadn't worn off completely. Dean worried about Sam trying to tackle this rugged terrain alone when he wasn't in complete control of all his faculties. One wrong step could be disastrous, as Dean himself had almost found out. He needed to be where he could keep an eye on, and offer a hand to, his brother should he need it.

"Just let me get him safely to Bobby's," Dean prayed to anyone who might be listening. "That's all I ask. Anything else I'll deal with after."

It was these thoughts that were crossing Dean's mind when he spied Sam up ahead. The younger boy was reclined against a boulder, and Dean couldn't tell if he was resting or unconscious.

"Sam!" He barked, his long strides turning into a gallop. He fell to his knees beside his brother.

"Hey, Sam! You snoozing on the job, dude?" He shook the still form gently.

No response.

"Dammit, Sammy. What now?" Dean moaned, having had his fill of drama for one week. He noted the boy's pale color and shallow breathing as he tried to rouse him. Finally, Dean grabbed a water bottle from his pack and poured a small amount in his hand. he flicked it across his brother's face, hoping for a bitchy response.

Nothing.

"Dammit, Sam. Don't you do this shit way out here. I got no way to get you any help. Come on. Work with me here, okay?" Dean begged, slapping his brother's cheeks gently.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Sam began to come around. He opened sleepy eyes slowly, and slowly focused them on his nearly frantic brother.

"Dean?" He murmured.

"Yeah, buddy. It's me. Where'd you go on me, hunh?"

Sam struggled to sit up straighter. "Just dozed off, I guess. I'm so tired all of a sudden. Sorry."

Dean knew it was more than that, but he didn't see any reason to worry Sam if he just thought he'd fallen asleep. He'd get them both out of here and then he'd worry.

"Hey, did you ever eat anything?" He asked the younger boy, fishing in his backpack for the meat sticks he'd stuffed inside. He handed one to Sam with a water bottle. "Here, Rip Van Winkle. Eat up." Dean settled down beside him, tearing open a meat stick for himself. "Gotta keep our strength up. Still got a ways to go before we make camp."

Sam nibbled at the overly salty processed meat, making a face, "You think we should? Make camp, I mean? What if those two come after us?"

Dean knew it wasn't a question of if, but when, Rudy and Angelo would catch up, but he didn't mention it. "Yeah, we gotta sleep, Sam. Otherwise, we'll never make it out of here." He flipped his phone open again and sighed.

"Nothing?"

"Nah. Phone's a piece of crap anyway. I been meaning to get a new one."

"Try mine." Sam offered, handing Dean his phone.

But Sam's phone was just as ancient as Dean's. "Shit." He said, handing it back dejectedly. He sighed. "That's alright. We'll be able to get a signal from that next hill for sure." He settled back and tore a vicious bite from his meat stick.

Sam looked up at the "hill" Dean mentioned and shuddered. It might as well have been Everest, and Sam felt like he had about a half-mile left in him if that.

Dean didn't miss it. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam just nodded and chewed slowly. But Dean knew he was lying. The kid felt terrible, Dean could see it in his tired eyes and in the way his hands shook trying to hold the little bit of food he had. Sam was exhausted. He needed a decent night's sleep and a warm blanket, and Dean cursed Dad again for getting Sam into this situation to begin with. Sam looked like he could collapse at any minute, and Dean wasn't at all sure that he'd be able to make it as far as they needed to go today. He patted the kid on the knee.

"We'll get there, Sammy." He encouraged. "You just tell me when you need to take a break okay? No need killing ourselves. We got all the time in the world." And he flashed that million-watt smile.

"We'll get there, Sam. I promise."

 _ **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who's following, favoriting, and reviewing! I love hearing from each and every one of you :)_


	10. Suddenly Screwed

They further on they pushed, the worse Sam felt. He was determined not to show it, but the fatigue was nearly overwhelming. Like Dean, Sam was in unusually good physical condition - Dad would have it no other way. And he wasn't used to feeling tired for no good reason. He was pretty sure his problems stemmed from whatever it was that Dad had put in the soda, but he figured there was nothing he could do about that now.

But damn, he itched like a son of a bitch.

So Sam kept putting one foot in front of the other, one hand over the other as they climbed down the first rise and made their up slowly up the other. It was only early afternoon now, but he felt like he'd been climbing for days. His hair clung to his face, and he'd already had to shed three layers. Still he was so hot he could barely stand it. He stopped to fish the half-empty bottle of water from his pack, and that's when he sunk to his knees, his vision blurring.

Dean was beside him in an instant.

"What's going on?" The older boy said, dropping the extra duffle and kneeling beside his brother.

"Nothing. Just tired is all." Sam lied, trying unsuccessfully to get the cap off the water bottle.

"Uh hunh." Dean answered, opening the bottle and holding it to his brother's lips. "That why you can't lift a half-empty water bottle?"

Sam chugged the bottle dry and ran his hand through his sweaty hair. "Not sure. I'm just so tired. Like .. weird tired. And I itch."

Dean nodded. "I think Dad's little cocktail is still messing with you, Sammy. Come on. Let's find some shade and set up camp."

Sam knew Dean wanted to keep pushing on, but he just didn't have it in him. In fact, he wasn't sure he could even get to his feet at all, let alone climb to the top of yet another freaking mountain.

"I'm sorry." He mourned, flopping backward and shielding his face with an arm. I just … just can't go on, Dean, you know?"

Dean did know. This delay would put them right in the line of fire, but he didn't know what else he could do. Sam was done. That was obvious. They'd have to hole up somewhere and let him get some rest, or he would never make it over the next ridge.

"S'okay, Sammy. It's not your fault, little bro." Dean reassured him, but Sam was too exhausted even to answer.

Dean let him rest and moved to a nearby tree. He grabbed the lowest branch and shinnied up the trunk like a monkey until he was a good twenty feet off the ground. He sighted the binoculars in and scanned the treeline, looking for any signs of movement. When he was satisfied that no one was within sight of them, he returned to the ground and began looking for a soft, sheltered place to make camp.

"Hey Sam?"

"Uh?"

"Think you can make it to those caves over there?"

"Yeah."

Dean snorted, "Think you should take a look first?"

Sam moved his arm and looked in the direction Dean was pointing. Damn. That looked far away. "Yeah," he repeated, lying.

"Are you lying, Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Well, okay then. As long as we're clear on that." Dean said, grinning. "No, stay there and rest." he said, when Sam began trying to sit up. "I'll go get it ready. You take a nap, okay?"

Sam flopped back down, gratefully. "'Yeah."

Dean dug around in the extra duffle and fished out a sheathed machete. He eyed it, shuddering, but he was suddenly glad it was there. It was exactly what he needed at the moment as he set about stripping every low-hanging leafy branch he could find to make pallets to hold their makeshift bedding. It would get at least down to freezing tonight, he knew. He also knew they couldn't risk building a fire. The two assholes following them had to be close, and Dean wanted to see them before they saw him and Sam.

It took him the better part of three hours to cut enough branches, drag them over to the cave and pile them up in some semblance of a nice, thick mattress. But when he was done, he was pleased with the result. It sure beat sleeping on the cold ground. The cave was also positioned in such a way that the late afternoon sun poured right into the entrance, heating the floor they'd be sleeping on. Dean figured that would help, as well. He returned then, for the bedding, and spread a single blanket on top. He'd save the quilt and the comforter as covers, and they'd use their duffles as pillows. It actually looked pretty cozy when he was through, he thought.

"That should keep you nice and warm, Sammy," Dean eyed his work with satisfaction. He moved to the front of the cave where he'd been working for close to an hour and glanced back over to where he'd last seen Sam reclined peacefully in sleep, except now his kid brother was on his hands and knees instead, Rudy's hands twisted cruelly in his hair and the barrel of Angelo's .45 pressed heartlessly to his forehead.


	11. Misery

Dean charged. The sight of Sam kneeling on the ground, execution style, lit a fire in his brain unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. And while it would likely have been smarter to stay hidden and plan a sneak attack, Dean didn't have it in him. His .45 was in the duffle at Rudy's feet, and even the damned machete was still laying where he'd dropped it when he'd hoisted his last load of branches to carry them up to the cave. All he had was his fury that either one of those sons a bitches had dared to lay cruel hand on his baby brother.

"Hey!" He bellowed, as he charged down the hill. "Get your fucking hands off him!"

But they both just sneered and moved around behind Sam, using him as a shield.

"I'd stop right there if I were you." Angelo warned, slipping the gun barrel inside Sam's mouth. Sam gagged and tried to twist away, but Rudy just knelt down behind the terrified boy and gripped his head with both hands, stilling any chance for movement.

Dean skidded to a stop ten feet away. His eyes met Sam's for an instant, and he saw the fear and anger outlined clearly in his brother's expressive eyes. The sight made Dean angrier than he could ever remember being. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you fucking asshole?" he addressed Angelo.

"That's one." The older man said mysteriously.

Dean glared. "One what?"

"One other use for your brother's bitchy mouth. Dean. You wanna try for two? Cause Rudy and me, we been on the road for a LONG time, if you get my meaning."

Sam whimpered. He fucking whimpered. And Dean swore that the two psychotic monsters in front of him had just signed their death warrants.

"Do that, and you die." Dean stilled, all emotion gone from his voice. "He's just a kid, you fucking pervert. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Rudy spoke up then, "Nothing wrong with us that little warm body heat wouldn't cure." The fucker nuzzled Sam's neck. "Gonna get cold out here tonight."

Dean was as terrified as he'd ever been. "Yeah, that's not what Dad hired you for though, is it? You really wanna go back and tell John Winchester you fucking molested his youngest? Got a death wish or something there, Rudy?"

The blond man shrugged, "He said toughen him up. Didn't say how."

But Angelo suddenly looked a little green. He slid the gun out of Sam's mouth and glanced at his cousin. "Kid's right, though. Word gets back to Winchester that we did THAT, and he ain't gonna be too happy. You want John Winchester on your ass the rest of your life?"

Dean smiled then, "Oh, you won't have to worry about Dad. The second you hurt Sam, you're in my sights. You got that? And nothing Dad could ever think of will compare with what I do to you."

Rudy shrugged. He was definitely the worse of the two. "So we kill him after. Tell Daddy-O it couldn't be helped. We kill 'em both, no witnesses." The monster grinned evilly. "In fact, let's just off big bro right now." He took the gun from his cousin and pointed it at Dean's head. "Sure as hell make our lives a lot easier." He cocked the weapon.

"No!" Sam yelled, throwing himself sideways and knocking the shot wide an instant before the gun fired. Dean dove forward then, but Angelo was on him before he could take five steps. He used his considerable weight to bring the younger man down and quickly subdued him with a succession of three quick punches to the face. "Give me the gun!" He yelled to Rudy.

But Rudy was occupied with his own fierce mountain lion of a sixteen year old. Sam wasn't very big, but he was wiry as hell. He waded into the older man with fists flying. And Rudy suddenly felt like he was trying to subdue a fucking octopus hopped up on acid.

"You little fucker!" The older man screamed as Sam landed a solid flat palm to the underside of his nose. Sam's balance was off, sadly, or the move would have effectively disabled his attacker. As it was, it only hurt like a bitch, enraging the man more. He took Sam down with a brutal leg sweep that landed him flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Rudy landed on top of him then, hands around his slender throat, blind to everything but making the little bastard pay.

Sam's hands flapped ineffectively at the man who outweighed him by more than 100 pounds. But he was helpless against his attacker, and his movements began to slow considerably. He managed to turn his head and lock eyes with Dean as his vision began to go dark.

"Get off him!" Dean begged. "You're killing him! Sammy!"

"Rudy!" Angelo barked. "Don't fucking kill him. You kill him, and we don't get paid for this shit!"

That seemed to get through to the man who sat astride Sam, trying to choke the life right out of him. He released the boy's throat and sat studying him, pissed as hell. "Little fucker tried to ram my fucking nose through my skull. Son of a bitch that hurt!" He swiped at the blood that gushed down his face.

Angelo snickered. "You almost got fuckin' taken out by a fuckin' teenager, you pansy."

But Rudy wasn't letting it go. "It's not fucking funny! You little shit!" He addressed Sam who struggled beneath him, trying to draw in air. "Let's see how you like it!" And he drew back his hand and slashed downward, landing a karate chop up and under Sam's nose.

The noise that Sam made as his nose exploded and blood gushed forth like a fountain would haunt Dean for the rest of his days. Rudy lifted his considerable bulk off his brother then as Sam folded into a fetal position and lay on the ground screaming, his hands hiding his face.

"I'd call that immobilized." the fucker grinned as he moved away to begin rummaging through the boys' supplies. He tossed the gun to Angelo.

Dean couldn't find the strength to care that the man who sat on top of him now had a weapon. He could only lay there three feet from his brother and watch with tears streaming from his eyes as Sam writhed in agony and made noises like a wounded animal.

"Sammy, you're okay. You hear me? You're gonna be okay. Just breathe through it. Come on, man. You can do. Breathe Sammy."

Sam reached one hand out blindly toward his brother's voice then, and Dean captured it in his own. "I gotcha, Sammy. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. It's gonna be okay."


	12. The Conditioning

Sam's screams had softened to whimpers as he lay on the cold ground, unattended by anyone. And his inability to reach his baby brother when he was in such indescribable pain was killing Dean.

"Please let me help him." He begged from the ground where he sat hogtied. Rudy had rummaged through their bags and found the length of rope, using it to effectively disable the older boy.

But the cruel cousins just snorted. "See, that's exactly the kind of shit that drives Daddy Winchester crazy, you know?" Angelo addressed Dean. "Kid has to learn to manage on his own without big bro wiping up his messes behind him." He moved over to Sam and stood looking down at him. He poked him with the toe of his boot. "Get up." He barked.

"Leave him the fuck alone." Dean growled. "You fucking broke his nose."

"I said, Get up!" Angelo reached down and yanked Sam to his feet unceremoniously. The boy whimpered once but then cut it off. "Good boy." Angelo praised him. "You're learning. Now let me take a look at you." He positioned Sam so the fading light shone across his face and Dean gasped. Sam's entire front, from his nose down to his chest was stained dark with blood. He looked like some ailing creature from a horror flick - something that had just seen the wrong end of something very sharp.

"Sammy!" Dean barked out. "You okay?"

"Don't you dare answer that, boy. You hear me?" Angelo growled, shaking Sam hard. "If you let that brother of yours lead you around by the nose in front of me, I'll squash him like a bug. You hear me? I'll fucking shoot him in the fucking head if you so much as look his way. You get it?"

Sam nodded, studiously avoiding looking at Dean.

"From now on, you don't look at him. You don't talk to him. You don't acknowledge him in any way. You got it? And you speak when you're spoken to and only then. And you don't make eye contact with any of us. Understand? Cause you're a fucking wild animal and we - his gesture included Dean - we're your trainers. Got it?"

Sam stood silent, glaring at Angelo.

"I guess not." the older man said, slapping Sam hard across the face and starting a new flood of bright blood flowing down his chin."

"You get it now? You're an animal. A sub-human. Something to be beaten into submission. And if I catch you even looking at that former brother of yours, he'll be in a world of pain. I make myself clear?"

Silence. But Sam stared at the ground instead of into his attacker's eyes.

Angelo shook him again, hard. "Well?" he pulled the .45 out of the back of his jeans and pointed it at Dean. "I gotta give you a sample or something boy?"

Sam shook his head.

"Good. So what are you again?"

"An animal." Sam muttered softly.

"We can't hear you." Angelo growled, cocking the pistol.

"An animal. I'm an animal." Sam spit out desperately.

The older man nodded, "Fucking right you are. Now go clean that shit off your face, and do it good. You're staying out here tonight, and if you got blood on you some big critter might be paying you a visit. I gotta protect my investment, after all." He pushed Sam roughly toward the creek.

Sam stumbled, his boot catching on Dean's foot, but he was careful not to even glance at his brother as he made his way painfully down to the water's edge.

Dean glared at Angelo. "I'm gonna enjoy killing you, you demented son of a bitch."

But Angelo just laughed. "Naw, you're not. Come on. It'll be fun. You know you've had moments when you wanted to beat the shit out of him. Admit it. Here's your chance."

"It will be long and slow." Dean continued. "And everything you assholes try to do to Sam? I'm gonna do it twice to you. Just so you know." He kicked a cloud of dirt in their direction.

"Really?" Rudy was intrigued by Dean's threats. "Well, maybe we better give you something to do then, hunh? Idle hands and all that." He moved forward and sliced through the ropes holding Dean. "Now just so we're clear here. You try anything, anything at all, and I shoot your brother in the head. Got it? I got all the weapons and all the brains. You do what I say, when I say it, and you just might get to live to see what happens. Now here." He shoved a handful of iron railroad spikes in Dean's hand and backed away."

"Angelo, you got your sights on him?"

"Yep. Sure do." the younger cousin giggled.

Rudy addressed Dean. "Hammer's over there. I wanna see you pound those stakes in the ground nice and secure, you hear? I'm gonna check 'em when I'm done, and if they ain't good and solid, I'm gonna give Sammy down there a big, wet, sloppy kiss." He burst out laughing.

Angelo snorted. "You're a fucking mess, Rudy."

"What? Think I won't? I been thinkin' about nothing but ever since we took that hunt together two years back."

Dean wanted to kill the sick fuck when he admitted that he'd been thinking about Sam that way since he was fourteen.

Rudy clapped his hands together. "Chop chop Dean. Focus. Hammer. Stakes. I want 'em six feet apart in a square. Let's get on with it."

Dean moved slowly, gradually getting the feeling back in his arms and legs. He turned to retrieve the hammer and saw Sam kneeling by the water's edge, his little brother's shoulders slouched forward, defeat written all over him, and Dean realized that he'd never wanted to kill another human being - two human beings - so badly in his life.

"Where?" He barked at Rudy, refusing to be intimidated by the sick fucker.

"Right here looks good." Rudy gestured to a level area just to the right of the campfire he was building. Clean it out good. I want to see bare dirt and rocks when you're done.

Dean set about clearing the area of leaves and debris and hammering in the stakes. He assumed they had a tent they planned to pitch, but he wasn't about to show interest because he knew that he and Sam wouldn't be benefiting from it.

"Where's the kid?" Angelo asked suddenly.

The trio whirled around as one, but Sam was only slowly making his way back to camp, the blood and gore washed away. And now that the worst of the mess was gone, Dean could see just how bad the injury was. Both of Sam's eyes, from his forehead to his cheekbones, were black, and his nose was bent at a strange angle. It was definitely broken. "Son of a bitch." Dean breathed, furious. "Sammy, it's gonna be okay. We'll get that taken care of when we get out of this, I promise." He called, not caring what anyone did to him.

His concern caused Sam to momentarily look up, however. His eyes met Dean's for just an instant, and that was all the excuse Rudy needed. "Did you just make eye contact with one of your trainers, you fucking animal?" He roared, approaching the boy.

Dean was on his feet in an instant, hammer in hand, moving forward.

But in the next instant, Angelo had the pistol at Dean's head. "Easy there. This don't concern you. This is an animal being conditioned."

"I will fucking end you." Dean promised, halting his stride.

Rudy continued his headlong rush toward Sam and stood in front of him. "Take off your clothes." He barked.

Dean moved forward again, "You fucker. I'll kill you."

But Rudy calmly stared Dean down. "If you don't stand down, I'm gonna go dig in Daddy's bag for a little treat for Sammy here. Is that what you want, Dean?" He turned back to Sam. "Well?"

But Sam was frozen in fear, his eyes downcast, breathing heavily.

"Shoot the brother." Rudy said to Angelo without taking his eyes off Sam.

Those words were all Sam needed to hear though, and he raised his hands and shakily pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"Sammy. Don't." Dean begged.

Sam kicked off his boots and removed his socks. When he stood there in nothing but his jeans, Rudy relented. "That's enough." He said, stepping back. He glanced over to the area that Dean had just cleared out, addressing Dean. "You did a good job there, Dean. Thanks for the help in taking care of this … thing." He motioned to Sam.

"Go to hell." Dean snarled.

Rudy stood looking Sam up and down. "Tell Dean thank you for making up your bed all nice and cozy for you."

"Thank you." Sam breathed without looking up.

Dean's eyes grew wide. "You're not leaving him out here like this."

"No Dean. We're not." Rudy stared at him. "You are." he gestured toward the tangle of rope that had just held Dean not long ago. "Get the rope and stake him out. He's your responsibility, after all. And Dean." He threatened. "Don't get any ideas about going easy on him. I'm gonna check your knots when you're done, and if he's not staked good and tight, he'll be sorry. I make myself clear?"

Dean stared. "You're out of your fucking mind." He whispered.

Rudy grinned the grin of the truly insane. "Yes. I am. Remember that. Now go."

Dean looked from the tangle of coarse rope to his baby brother's bare skin and felt like he was going to vomit.

"No fucking way." he snarled. "You're not leaving him out here in the cold all night. He'll fucking freeze to death."

Rudy sighed. "Sam," He said sadly. "Your brother just doesn't get that every time he gives me shit, you pay the piper." and he reached into a pocket and pulled out a lighter. He snapped it open and grabbed Sam's hand, yanking it forward.

"Okay!" Dean stopped him. "Fine. I'll do it. Put the fucking lighter away, you sadistic son of a bitch."

Rudy nodded. "That's a good little trainer, Dean. You'll have this animal broken in no time." Then he nodded to Sam. "Go on animal. Go let your trainer get you bedded down for the night."

Sam moved silently over to Dean and stood looking down. The defeated way he carried himself broke Dean's heart, and the older boy had to swallow hard to keep tears at bay. "It's okay Sammy. Come here little bro." He pulled him into an embrace, wincing at how cold the boy was already. The wind was picking up and the temperatures dropping, and Sam didn't have any extra meat on his bones to protect him from the onslaught. "Here," Dean swallowed, guiding him to the plot of bare land. "Just relax and lay back, okay? I got you."

And then Dean proceeded to stake his little brother out, spread-eagle on the cold, bare ground. And the whole time he worked, Sam didn't look at him once. Even though Dean kept up a comforting running commentary about how they were going to get out of this and how everything was going to be okay. By the time Dean was done, Sam was shivering so hard his teeth chattered. And Dean took off the three shirts he wore and layered them gently over his little brother. 'I'm sorry, Sammy." He whispered, running a hand through Sam's hair. "We'll get out of this. I promise."


	13. Like an Animal

It was morning, and Dean hadn't slept a wink. First, the asshole cousins had threatened to take out Sam's kneecaps with the hammer if Dean didn't take his shirts back from Sammy and put them back on. Then they'd cuffed Dean to a sapling. Dean could see Sam stretched out on the other side of the campsite, but he couldn't comfort him with either words or actions.

And damn it was cold … too cold to have bare skin touching the ground, especially for someone who was injured as badly as Sam was injured.

All night long, Dean kept a silent vigil over his little brother, noticing his agony as first he fidgeted to try and find a position that was tolerable, and then later, as he stopped moving altogether. Dean hoped that meant Sam was finally able to sleep, but he was terrified of all the other things it could mean too.

If Sam froze to death out here, just 15 yards away from the older brother whose sworn duty it was to protect him, Dean knew it would be the end for both of them.

"Hey trainer, go get your animal up." Rudy was suddenly in front of him, unlocking the cuffs, and Dean wasted not a second dragging his stiff limbs across the forest floor to his brother. He fell to his knees beside the slight figure.

"Sammy. You okay?" he asked gently, pulling his brother's chin toward him.

Damn. He was so cold. Sam's face was a wreck. Every area that hadn't turned black and swollen was gray, his lips a pale shade of blue. He was barely recognizable as the good-looking kid who'd followed Dean into this fucking forest, and for one horrifying moment in time, Dean thought he was gone.

"Sammy!" He cried, slapping the boy's cheeks lightly.

Sam groaned then, and Dean nearly cried in relief. He quickly untied the cruel ropes that bound Sam by the wrists and ankles and gathered him up in a desperate embrace.

"Come on, little bro. Let's get you warmed up, hunh?"

"Dean?" Sam asked in confusion, his eyes finally focusing.

"Yeah, it's me, Sammy. It's just me. Hey, can you walk for me?"

"S-so c-cold. Can't feel my l-legs."

"I know, baby bro. Come on. I'll help you. Let's get you over to the fire, okay?" Dean pulled the younger boy gently to his feet and slipped a steadying arm beneath him. Together, they navigated the short distance to the campfire.

Dean dragged an old log over to the fire and helped settle his brother on it. Then he retrieved a warm hoodie from his own duffle and pulled it over Sam's chilled torso. He held his brother's frozen and lifeless hands over the warmth cast by the fire, all the time speaking encouragingly to him in low tones as Angelo and Rudy looked on with amusement.

"Damn, Ange," Rudy sneered loudly. "I ever get that fucking pathetic, just put a bullet in my head, okay?"

"I can put one in there right now if you want." Angelo offered.

"Fuck you, cuz."

"Not now. Ask me tomorrow." the older man shot back.

Rudy snorted. "Hey Dean. Got bacon. You want some?" He dangled a piece in front of the boy, enticingly.

Dean glared. "Does Sam get to eat too?"

Rudy thought that over for a moment and then grinned. "Sure. Every living thing has to eat, right? Even the filthy wild beasts in the fields have to have something. Let me see what I got for your animal here.

And damned if Rudy didn't root through his bag and bring out a fucking can of dog food. He pulled the tab and set the can at Sam's feet. "There you go, animal. Eat up." He said and laughed.

Angelo just stared, "That's fucking sick, man." He grinned. "Where do you think this shit up?"

Dean just ignored the pair of them, concentrating instead on helping Sam get the blood flowing back into his frigid hands.

"Well?" Rudy demanded, when his little joke didn't get the reaction he wanted.

Silence.

He reached out a booted foot and kicked Sam's bare toes. "I said eat up."

Sam pulled his feet back and tucked them beneath him as Dean shot daggers at the sadistic asshole who sat across from them. And oh … the bacon. The smell of it as it sizzled on the cast iron griddle over the fire was almost Dean's undoing. Damn, he was hungry, and everyone who knew Dean Winchester knew that bacon was his weakness.

At least when there wasn't a cheeseburger lying around unclaimed.

Dean stood up suddenly. "Gotta go piss." He said shortly, stepping back to the treeline.

Sam knew how the rich scent of frying meat must be affecting his brother. He swallowed and directed his next words at Rudy while keeping his eyes downcast. 'If I … if I eat … that, can Dean have the bacon?" he asked warily. "Please?"

Rudy grinned, loving the pleading tone in the kid's voice and the fact that he had the power to make him fucking eat dog food. He handed Sam a spoon. "Only if you eat the whole damned thing, you freak." He leaned back and high-fived his cousin.

Sam leaned down and picked the can up quickly, hoping to finish it before Dean got back. He shoved the spoon into the gelatinous ground meat that smelled like rotted fish and forced it into his mouth. He gagged and almost vomited at the initial taste, but then he quickly steeled his mind and finished the can off in just four big bites. As he swiped a hand across his mouth, he was grateful the assholes had brought the small pull-tab cans and not the fucking economy-size shit. He quickly tossed the empty can into the fire, hoping it would settle down beneath the sticks of burning wood before his brother came back.

"There's a good boy." Angelo taunted him, snickering.

When Dean got back, there was a heaping pile of bacon waiting for him on a paper plate. Rudy handed it to him smugly. "Sammy bought you a present there, Deano." He said hatefully.

Dean looked from the bacon to Rudy to the miserable look on Sam's face and wanted to smash something. "What did you do, you sick fuck? He growled at the blond bastard.

"Wasn't me. Your animal there was just showing its loyalty. It volunteered to eat its whole can of food if you could have bacon. Now wasn't that nice? You know, for a fucking wild beast, it has real potential."

Dean looked at Sam, his eyes tearing, "Sammy, why?"

Sam wouldn't meet his gaze. "You need to eat, Dean." he said simply.

Dean stared at his little brother sitting there in so much pain, being so brave and so loyal, realizing that he'd just fucking eaten dog food so Dean could have bacon, and he fucking lost it. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached a hand right into the fire and grabbed one of the burning sticks, shoving it point-first into Rudy's ugly face. The man went down howling, and it was the sweetest sound Dean had ever heard. Dean then landed on the older man like a ton of bricks.

And when Angelo jumped on the pair, Sam saw his opening. Moving much too quickly for someone who was hurt as badly as he let on, Sam went straight for the bag of weapons. He grabbed Dean's .45, checked it for rounds and had it pointed straight at Angelo's head before anyone even realized he was gone.

He fired a round into the air, effectively halting the struggle just as Angelo brought a good-sized rock down on Dean's skull.

But Sam pushed his feelings down and back, just like his brother had always taught him to do. He took a single, deep breath, steadied his hands, and leveled the gun calmly at Angelo's face. "This is for torturing me." He whispered and pulled the trigger.

And when Angelo fell backward to the ground, a neat hole right above his left eye, Rudy stood and stepped away from Dean in shock. He fell to his knees beside his cousin and stared at Sam in shock. "You-you killed him!" He said, stunned.

"And this is for hurting my brother." Sam smiled calmly, aiming true.

A second later, Rudy joined his cousin on the forest floor, one eye gone and the other staring sightlessly off into the trees.

Sam lowered his weapon and strode purposefully over to the two monsters who had tormented him and his brother for an entire day and night. He leaned down and felt for pulses, nodding silently when none were present. He turned his attention to Dean then, falling down beside the older boy and making a careful inventory of his injuries. The entire left side of his brother's head was covered in blood, and he was out cold. Sam fingered cautiously through Dean's hair, feeling for the wound, and was relieved to find only a long gash. It was deep, but probably not deep enough to cause major damage. A concussion was a pretty sure bet though, and Sam knew if Dean didn't wake up soon, it could spell bigger trouble. Sam knew a little about head wounds but not enough, and from what he'd seen, Dean had taken a terrible blow from too close a distance.

"One catastrophe at a time, Sam." He whispered to himself, as he set about bathing and bandaging his brother's injury as best he could.

When he was done, he rolled Dean up in Rudy's sleeping bag, using a duffle as a pillow, and pulled him away from the fire. Then he calmly set about gathering wood and heaping it on the dwindling flames. When he had it roaring, he dragged the two corpses over, emptied their pockets, took their warm fleece shirts and piled the bodies atop the flames, adding half a bag of salt for good measure.

Then Sam rooted through all the duffles, retrieving things he knew they could use. He found the acetaminophen first, and took three, chasing it with a bottle of cool water that tasted like Heaven. Then he sorted out the extra clothes and put most of them on. And when he came to Rudy's satellite phone, buried deep in a pocket of the older man's backpack, Sam sat back on his heels and grinned at the sky.

"Thank you." He prayed gratefully, turning it on and punching out Bobby's number.


	14. Phone Call to Bobby

Bobby looked at the number displayed on the screen and swore. "Balls!" He picked up on the third ring.

"Thought I told you to lose this number, you sadistic son of a bitch." He flipped the phone shut, wishing it was a landline that he could give a good old-fashioned slam.

It began ringing again immediately. Bobby sighed as he picked up.

"What!"

"B-bobby?" a hesitant voice asked, sounding unsure of itself and vaguely familiar.

"Who's this?" the older hunter barked meanly. God, he hated those flippin' cousins.

A pause and a short intake of breath, "It's me. Sam."

Bobby's legs suddenly felt weak, and he moved to sit down. Sam calling from Rudy Dawson's phone? This couldn't be good.

"Sam? Why you calling from Rudy's phone, son?" Bobby was worried now. He could hear Sam breathing heavily. It sounded like the kid was trying not to have a panic attack.

"I … he's … he's dead, Bobby. I killed him."

Bobby gasped. "What happened, Sam?"

"I … he was hurting Dean."

"Where's Dean. He okay? Are you okay?" He was getting way to old for this shit.

"Dean, he's out cold. I can't get him to wake up, and I don't know where we are. D-dad left us at a cabin and said Dean should use a taser on me and he sent these two guys, and we got away but they caught up to us and … and … they were hurting Dean."

Bobby's mouth dropped open. "Okay son, just take a deep breath. And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep an eye out for Angelo, okay? Wherever you find one Dawson, you'll find the other."

Another pause. "He-he's dead too."

Bobby's eyes closed. Whatever had happened there, it hadn't been good. "Okay, Sam. Tell me everything. How did you and Dean run across the Dawsons?"

Sam sighed, and Bobby heard him gulp. "D-dad said I was getting soft, that I needed conditioning, and he made Dean promise to do it. So he dropped us off at this cabin and gave Dean a bag of stuff he was supposed to use on me. It had a taser in it, Bobby, and duct tape and ropes and stuff." Sam paused then, and Bobby sat horrified. Dean? Use a taser on Sam?

"And anyway, Dean and me, we got away, but these two guys followed us, and I was still sick from the drugs Dad made me take and I slowed us down, and they caught up with us. They-they did awful things, Bobby." Sam's voice broke then.

Bobby swallowed hard, "Calm down, boy. It's gonna be okay."

But Sam was on a roll now, "And I could take all the stuff they did to me, but then they were gonna hurt Dean, and … and I … Bobby, I killed them, and I'm not sorry. I killed them both." Sam finished, voice shaking.

Bobby sat silent, not knowing what to say to comfort the boy he loved like a son.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Y-you think me and Dean? I mean, could we come stay with you awhile? Something's really wrong with Dad."

Bobby cleared his throat, "Sam, you know that you and your brother have a home here anytime you need it. You hear me? You can come and stay a week or stay a lifetime, and I wouldn't mind a bit."

"Okay." Sam said, sighing, and Bobby could hear the relief in his voice. "Okay," he repeated.

It was time for Bobby to take charge. "Okay, Sam. Here's what we do. First, you need to burn those bodies. Rudy and Angelo were sadistic sons a bitches in life; I hate to think of what they'd be capable of as vengeful spirits."

"I did that already."

"Good. Now, we have to figure out where you are. This cabin, what'd it look like?" What state is it in?"

We're in Tennessee, in the Smoky Mountains. But that's all I know. The cabin - there was a lake, but we were the only ones on it. It was all dusty inside like nobody had been there in years. We rowed across the lake and started over the mountains and that's where we were when they found us. We're in some kind of forest and there's a stream and a cave.

"You say there's a stream?"

"Yeah, a stream."

"Okay, son. Here's the plan. You take your brother and follow the stream down, okay? Rudy still using that old satellite phone?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Take it with you, and leave it turned on, okay? I don't know a lot about satellite phones, but I'm thinking they'll be easier to track that way."

"Okay."

"Wherever that stream comes out, Sam, that's where I'll be, okay? And if I get there first, I'll hike up and meet you halfway. Sound good? I'm pretty sure I know which cabin that is, but there's another one just like it too, and we want to be sure."

"Okay."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you? Are you hurt?"

"Think my nose is broken, but that's all."

Bobby's eyes closed in fury. "Okay. You get your brother up and about, and get moving out of there. Stay on your toes too. That's bear country."

Silence.

"Okay." Sam said, sounding terrified.

Bobby cursed his own stupidity. "Look Sam, the worst part's over. A bear's a piece of cake compared to the Dawson's, right?" he chuckled. "You got a rifle?"

"Yeah, I got a high-powered rifle, and a sawed off, and Dean's .45."

"Okay, you're good then. You can do this, Sam. For Dean, okay?"

"Okay."

"And Sam?"

"Yeah Bobby?"

"None of this feeling guilty crap, you hear me? Those two were about as close to being the things we hunt as humans can get without crossing over. You did the world a favor, son. Ain't nobody anywhere gonna mourn Rudy or Angelo Dawson."


	15. When the Stars Come Out at Night

It was dark now and cold again, and the sky above Sam and his dead brother shimmered with stars that shone so much more brightly than they ever had from any motel room window. And Sam had the thought that maybe they shone like that tonight because they were fueled by Dean's spirit when he had crossed over.

Sam laid back and listened to the stars. To someone else watching, maybe they looked like small beacons of hope struggling to shine out through the blackness, but to Sam, lying on the cold ground beside his brother who couldn't talk, couldn't open his eyes, couldn't listen to his beloved music or flash his trademark grin, they looked like holes, and he imagined that his heart was the black sky and the stars all the injured places where he was leaking the hope and the strength and the courage to go on.

Because he couldn't. He wouldn't.

Not without Dean.

And Dean was gone.

He might still be breathing, but Sam knew.

He just knew. It was the stars.

The big brother who'd raised him, the guy who'd taught him how to talk to girls - sort of - and how to drive a car and how to line up the perfect shot at pool, the man who'd stood up to Dad for him time after time and who'd secretly encouraged him to tryout for debate team and drama club and who never missed a game or a concert or a performance if Sam was in it - he had moved on. He had gone on to someplace better, someplace kinder, someplace where evil and hatred and psycho cousins didn't exist.

Maybe it was just the after-effects of all the abuse he'd suffered in the last day, or maybe it was the far-reaching side effects of the drug Dad had given him, but Sam suddenly felt in his heart that his frantically whispered words were falling on deaf ears.

He sat curled by Dean's side. It had been hours, and his brother wasn't waking up. Sam stroked the older boy's face gently and spoke softly to him, encouraging him quietly to open his eyes and give him that wink that stopped hearts and gave little brothers courage when there was nothing but fear to be found anywhere else in a world that was suffocating in darkness.

If Dean's last memories of Sam turned out to be the one where he'd tied his brother to the frozen ground while Sam was too terrified to reassure him and the ones where Sam was forced to shed his clothes and eat dog food out of a can like an animal - if those became the final memories that sent Dean off on his journey to the warm and gentle light that Sam knew was waiting for him on the other side …

well, it just couldn't.

Sam prayed to God all the time, and God wasn't that cruel.

Dean had to wake up. That was all.

But Dean slept on, oblivious to how badly his kid brother - the other half of his heart - so desperately needed to hear his voice and to see his cynical smile.

"Please, Dean." Sam whispered softly, "Please wake up. You don't deserve this. It can't end like this, okay? You have to make it back, you hear me? You have to make it back because we're safe now. We're on our way to Bobby's, and there's bacon there, Dean. There's bacon and cheeseburgers and pancakes and … and," Sam tried to think of a better encouragement, "And there's porn, Dean. Lots and lots of porn." Sam waited.

But nothing.

Sam fingered the .45 in his lap casually. Initially, he'd whispered to Dean that it was just in case a bear came lumbering into camp, but as the night wore on and his blackness became blacker and his stars grew louder and his brother's breaths became more shallow, Sam sort of forgot why he held onto it, and he began to wonder if maybe he cradled it for a different reason.

The satellite phone rang then, pulling Sam from his daze. He answered it, clearing his throat. "Hello?"

"How you holdin' up there, Sam?"

Sam thought about that for a moment. "I'm still here, Bobby." He answered quietly.

On the other end of the line, Bobby hesitated. It wasn't the answer he expected.

"How's Dean?"

Sam paused, and cleared his throat again, but he couldn't get his voice to work.

Through the line, Bobby listened to Sam's struggle and clutched the steering wheel in pain.

"Sam. No …" Bobby whispered.

"He's still breathing."

Bobby forced his heart to start working again. "Balls, kid! You scared the hell out of me."

"Bobby?"

"Yeah?" The older hunter answered gruffly.

"I-I think he's gone."

Bobby swallowed hard, "Why do you say that, Sam? You said he's breathing, right?"

"He is, but …"

"But what?"

"But the stars are talking to me. They told me he crossed over. They said he's there now."

Bobby blinked.

"Sam? You okay?"

"My head hurts, and I itch, and Dean's dead."

Bobby thought about that. "You find some medicine in one of those bags, Sam?"

"No, just the acetaminophen."

"How many?"

"Three. And then three more a little while ago. Not too many."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You're kinda talkin' out of your head there."

"My head? It hurts is all."

"Tell me how your nose got broken?"

"Rudy. He karate chopped me up under my nose. It's kind of sitting funny now, and I think it's in the wrong place."

Bobby silently swore. He knew grown men who'd died from that very injury. Sam was in more trouble than he'd realized.

"Listen Sam," Bobby tried to knock back his own panic. "As long as Dean is breathing, he hasn't crossed over, okay? He's gonna wake up anytime now, so stop thinking that he's dead. He's not."

"Do you … do you think he's suffering, Bobby?" Sam asked, choking back a sob.

Bobby's heart broke in half and slid in pieces to his feet. "I'm sure he's not, Sam. His body just needs to rest so it can heal itself. As soon as he's able, he'll wake up."

Sam was crying now. "I can't let him suffer, Bobby. I just can't."

The fear was back again - with friends, "What are you talking about, Sam?"

"I'm sitting here, and I have Dean's .45. And I can't remember why I have it, Bobby!" Sam pleaded. "There was something I was supposed to do. Do you know what it was?"

Shit. Sam was losing it. He was losing it, and he was all alone, God knew where, with a bag full of guns, and Dean was helpless. Bobby felt actual pain where his heart should be. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road and closed his eyes.

"Sam. Listen to me, okay? This is very important. I mean life or death important, boy. You hear me?"

Sam sat up straighter, "Yes sir."

"Put the gun back in the bag, okay? You don't need it. Don't take it back out of the bag unless you see a bear, okay? I'm making this a rule now, you hear me, boy? And you know how pissed I get when my rules get broken. The rule is - the gun goes back in the bag. You got that? If you break that rule, I'll kick your ass."

"O-okay." Sam stammered, making Bobby feel like a complete shit. The kid had been through so much, and now Bobby was yelling at him.

"I know where you are, Sam, and I'm coming to get you, okay? Help is on the way, but it's very important that you remember two things. Now listen up."

"Sam?"

"Yes sir?" Sam whispered.

"One - Dean is going to wake up, so don't you go getting any ideas about shooting him and putting him out of his misery. Two - the gun stays in the bag. You got that? Two things."

"Two things. Yes sir." Sam answered.

"Now repeat that back to me, soldier." Bobby barked.

"Dean's gonna wake up. Gun stays in the bag."

"Good. Now you remember that, and everything will be fine. You hear me? And Sam?"

"Hunh?"

"No more talking to the damn stars. I mean it."

 _ **Author's Note:** A special thank you to JaniceC678 for pointing out the difference between a skinwalker and a shapeshifter :) And a shout out to everyone who is reading and taking the time to leave such kind reviews. Thank you!_


	16. Descending

Sam dug at the skin on his left wrist. The itch was driving him crazy. His entire body itched, but it was the worst on his arms and legs. He had checked for evidence of poison ivy or insect bites, but there was nothing. It was like a phantom itch that originated inside his body.

And no matter how hard he scratched, nothing satisfied it.

It was finally warming up, and Sam gently eased his brother out of the sleeping bag and slipped it out from under his prone form. He rolled it up tightly and fastened the straps that made it easy to carry. Then he turned his attentions on Dean.

He was still out. His color was good though, and he was breathing easier. Sam hoped that meant … something. After the phone call with Bobby last night, Sam had felt some of his tension and despair lighten. He'd kept vigil over his big brother all night long, but without the gun because Bobby had made that the rule, and Sam would be damned if he was going to be the one who broke it.

Sam felt there was somewhere he needed to go today, but he couldn't quite remember where. It was important, and Dean had to go along. So after a few hours of pacing aimlessly, Sam came to a decision. He hoisted his unconscious brother onto his back, piggyback style, and cuffed the older boy's hands together so he couldn't fall backward. Sam then pulled Dean's legs around his own waist and carried him like he was ten instead of twenty.

And Sam smiled, remembering all the times that Dean had done this very thing with Sam - minus the cuffs of course - throughout their lives. He'd done it to get an injured Sam home from more than one hunt. And he'd done it to carry a sleepy Sam across yet another motel parking lot when the younger boy was too tired to pull shoes on with his pajamas. Dean had carried Sam off the field this way that time he broke his ankle playing soccer at school, and he'd done it a million times when the two were just horsing around at Bobby's, playing in the wrecked cars and pretending to be Batman and Robin.

Piggyback rides were just snapshots in the Winchester childhood album, only now it was Sam's turn to make sure that Dean was the one who got home safely, and he took that honor seriously.

Reaching down carefully to avoid falling forward from the unaccustomed extra weight, Sam grabbed the sleeping bag and stuffed the two remaining water bottles and the satellite phone inside the roll. Realizing that his brother and one sleeping bag was all he could manage to carry out of this hateful forest, Sam turned his back on everything else and set off downstream in search of whatever it was he and his brother had lost.

###

"How far out are you, Caleb?" Bobby demanded without a greeting, juggling the phone in his left hand and the coffee in his right as he strode purposefully across the diner's parking lot.

"Yeah? Good. Yeah, I got a location on Sam - a pingback on the satellite phone. The bad news is, those boys are hell and gone from anything, smack in the middle of freaking nowhere, and when I get my hands that father of theirs, he's gonna feel it."

"I got no idea. Maybe the jackass finally lost that last damn marble that's been kickin' around inside his head for years. One thing I know - he's never gettin' near those boys again long as I'm still around'"

"No. Not sure, but I'll figure it out. You meet up with Rufus yet?"

"Yeah? He's pissed? Good. So am I. Let's channel some of that angst to get those boys home. If anything happens to either one of them …" Bobby's voice broke, and he cleared his throat.

"Aw, balls. Just be there when I get there, you hear me? Same place. Sam will come out there eventually if he can, but I got a feeling we're gonna be going in after him."

"Who? Jim? Yeah, he's meeting us there. Ground zero. I should be there by late tonight. How about you?"

"Okay, so this time tomorrow then. Let me give you Sam's number, and Caleb? Yeah. Call the kid, okay? I want him to know he's got people on his side."

###

Sam was nearly all done in. Even on his best day, during one of his dad's most intense workouts, Sam had never carried an extra 160 pounds on his back over a long distance, add to that the fact that the terrain was getting worse the lower the ground became. The worst of the hills and ridges were behind them now, but Sam was left with all the low-lying brambles and thick vines that carpeted the ground next to the stream. He'd been hiking with his brother on his back for most of the day, stopping intermittently to rest. Finally, he'd decided it would simply be easier to maneuver if he walked directly in the stream rather than trying to fight his way through the nearly impenetrable wall of brush that surrounded it on both sides.

But in the next instant, he made a wrong move, his foot slipped on a wet rock, and he went down hard - pitching himself forward instead of back to take the brunt of the fall for his brother. Still, they both went down up to their knees - Sam on all fours - as he struggled to get his feet back beneath him and his breathing regulated.

"Let me down … bitch." Dean's voice, weak in his ear.

Sam's eyes widened and he struggled to see behind him, suddenly realizing that the weight of his brother's head no longer rested on his shoulder.

"Dean! Dean, you okay?" Sam struggled to sit back on the creek bank and lift his brother's cuffed arms up and over his own head. He whirled.

"Dean!" he lowered the older boy gently back until he reclined comfortably on the bank. He dug in his pocket for the key and quickly undid the cuffs.

"That's … kinky … Sammy."

Sam grinned. "Yeah, well. These cuffs helped save your ass, dude. You're freakin' heavy."

Dean looked up his little brother through bleary eyes. Damn. Sam looked like death warmed over. He raised a gentle hand to his brother's bruised face. "Sammy … you … you okay?"

But Sam couldn't stop grinning. "Hell yeah. Well I am, now. You scared me, man."

Dean looked around him. "Sammy? Where's … where are …?"

Sam was suddenly sober. "Uh … you don't have to worry about them anymore."

Dean looked at his brother in confusion. "You got us away? How?"

Sam stared sadly into his brother's eyes and then looked away. "I - I killed them."

Dean stared, "You … both of them?" he asked in awe.

Sam nodded. "Shot them with your .45. They weren't expecting it. They thought I was too injured, but I spent that whole night doing flexing exercises - keeping my hands and legs and stuff limber. You taught me that, remember?"

"So, you were faking?"

Sam nodded guiltily. "I'm sorry, Dean. I hated making you think I was worse than I was, but I needed that advantage."

Dean stared at his brother with undisguised pride. "Hell … Sammy. Don't … apologize. You saved our lives, dude." He raised a hand to his head. "What the hell's going on up here?" He asked, wincing.

Sam pulled his hand away, "Don't. You'll get it bleeding again. He hit you with a rock. I cleaned it, but I can't do much with it until we get some place I can stitch it up."

"It's okay, Sammy. You did good. You did damn good. You're awesome." He smiled and sat up, gingerly. "Damn. My head feels like it fucking exploded."

"Here." Sam pulled the bottle of painkillers from his pocket and fished a water bottle from the sleeping roll. He shook out nine of the pills for Dean and handed them over.

Dean stared, "You gave me nine, dude."

"You're hurt bad, Dean."

Dean smiled and handed six back. "I will be if I take nine, little bro." He smiled. "Here, save these for later."

Sam stared at the pills in his hand in confusion. "You don't want them?"

Dean studied his brother intently. "I'll take these three for now, okay? The rest later. Sam, you okay?"

Sam nodded.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You been taking these too?"

"Yeah."

"How many, bro?"

Sam suddenly looked lost. He screwed his face up in concentration, then looked back at Dean. "I - I can't remember." He suddenly looked like he was going to break into tears.

Dean smiled reassuringly and reached for the bottle. "It's okay, Sammy. Let me hang onto these, okay? And if you think you need one, you holler, alright?"

Sam nodded.

The phone rang.

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. He followed the sound to the sleeping roll, reached in and dug out the satellite phone. He grinned at Sam. "This for you?"

Sam shrugged.

Dean punched the button to answer. "Hello?"

"Hey Sam. How you doin'"

"Hey Bobby, It's Dean. Damn, it's good to hear your voice, man."

"Dean!" Bobby all but shouted. "Thank God, son. You had us all nearly worried to death. How long you been back in the land of the living?"

"Not long. What's going on?"

"Sam fill you in?"

"He hasn't had a chance yet. I just woke up."

"Uh, how's he lookin'?"

Dean glanced over to where his brother lay flat on the ground, resting, with one arm tossed over his face. "He's okay. His face looks like it's been through a meat grinder, but other than that …"

"Listen Dean. Keep an eye out for him, okay?" Bobby warned. "I think he's injured worse than he thinks."

Dean looked away, "Why?"

"When I talked to him last night, he was really out of it. Told me the freaking stars were talking to him and shit."

Dean chewed his lip, remembering the pills. "Will do, Bobby." He said, not wanting to go into too much detail with Sam sitting right there.

Bobby got the message. "So, I told Sam to follow the stream down. It'll come out by a parking lot in the Great Smokies National Park. I'll have a posse waiting to pick you boys up."

Dean was suddenly worried. "Uh, Bobby, did Sam tell you about Dad and those two assholes?"

Bobby growled, "You mean about him wantin' you to tie Sam up and taser him? And about him sicking Rudy and Angelo on you? Yeah, he did. Don't worry, boy. John Winchester ain't gettin' anywhere near either of you ever again. That's a promise."

Dean swallowed. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Hey Dean?" Bobby suddenly sounded hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"Sam didn't go into much detail - just said it got pretty bad with those two - that they did … awful … things to him. He going to need more than just wound-tending?"

Dean glanced at his brother again, wondering just what had happened between the time those two assholes had knocked him out and Sam had shot them both.

"Not sure. I'll get the skinny, okay?"

Bobby sighed. "Okay. I have someone in mind if we need her. She's real good with kids that have been … been abused .. like that."

Dean couldn't speak for a moment, and Bobby could tell that he needed space.

"Okay, so listen, Dean. We rendezvous tomorrow night in the parking lot. You get there first; you wait for us, hear? If we get there ahead of you, we'll work our way upstream and meet you."

"Who's "we," Bobby?"

"Me and Caleb, Rufus, and Pastor Jim. You got all kinds of people pulling for you, son. You hear?"

Dean's throat tightened. He didn't know what they'd do if it wasn't for Bobby. "Thanks, Bobby." He said softly.

"No girly moments, Dean. Just take care of your brother and get your ass down that mountain."


	17. Making Camp

Dean studied his little brother. The boy looked beat, and Dean would easily bet that he hadn't slept in days, really. Other than the drug-induced slumber he'd gotten in the Impala on the ride up, the rest of Sam's experiences over the last few days hadn't exactly been conducive to relaxation. The kid needed rest, and soon.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, struggling to his feet. "It's getting late. Let's find someplace good to make camp. Whaddaya say?"

Sam sat up along the bank. "I wonder how far we are from meeting up with Bobby?" Ever since the older hunter had mentioned bears, they were nearly all that Sam could think about.

"At least another day," Dean replied, sighing. He bent to retrieve the sleeping bag and looked around him.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Weapons bag?"

Sam looked blank. "What?"

"Where're our weapons?"

Sam tried to think. "Weapons?" he asked, screwing up his eyebrows. "Wait. The gun stays in the bag."

Dean stared. "So … where's the bag?"

Sam suddenly looked agitated. "I don't know!" he moaned, his eyes looking to Dean then flicking away like he was suddenly afraid of what the older boy would do. "I - I might have … left it … back there."

Dean grimaced and took a step forward.

But Sam saw and splashed a frantic step back himself. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he pleaded with Dean.

Dean froze, the look on Sam's face breaking his heart. He smiled gently. "It's okay, Sam. No worries. We'll send Caleb back after it." He saw Sam swallow hard and nod. Dean placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Really Sammy. I mean it. No biggie, okay? You've done more than anyone else could have. You eliminated the threats and got us out of a really bad situation. You dragged my heavy ass down a freaking mountain on your back, and now we're safe and nearly home-free. You did good Sam. Real good. Let's just build a fire and get out of these wet clothes - you especially. You look like you weigh about 40 pounds there, all dripping wet."

Sam huffed, and Dean knew he was trying to settle his nerves. "It's almost over, you know." He said comfortingly, as he dragged himself up out of the water and through the brambles that grew like a thick barrier beside the stream. "This time tomorrow, we'll be dining in style at Bobby's." Dean's look drifted far away. "Damn, I can already taste one of Bobby's burgers." He reached a hand down for Sam.

Sam grasped it and let himself be pulled to higher ground. "Wait." He said, reaching into his shirt. "I have these." He pulled out a handful of meat sticks, and Dean's mouth watered so suddenly, he almost drooled. He reached over and snagged one, tearing the end of the plastic off with his teeth.

"Sammy, I love you." He muttered, around a big bite of spicy beef. "Mmm. So good" He moaned, diving back in.

Sam snorted at the sounds his brother made. "It's just beef, Dean. Not sex." he said tearing open his own snack.

"Mmmf ... better than sex."

Sam studied the area around them, scoping out a good, flat place for a fire and finding an option not far away. He pointed. "There for camp?"

Dean looked and shoved his brother gently forward. "Looks perfect. Let's go.

Nearly an hour later, the boys had gathered enough wood and kindling to last the night. They'd also gathered enough pine boughs to make comfortable sleeping mats. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, setting fire to the small mountain of dry pine needles that lay at the base of the teepee-shaped arrangement. As it burst into flame, Dean sighed comfortably and held his hands over the heat.

"Ah, now we're living the life, Sammy." He quipped. You, me, a nice, warm fire and meat sticks."

Sam chuckled, tossing Dean the sleeping bag. "You hate camping, Dean."

"No, I hate camping with Dad. Camping with just us? This is pretty freakin' awesome." He caught the offered bag, unrolled it and stretched it out on the ground. "Man, this thing looks warm. Ain't gonna feel the cold tonight, Sammy boy." Feeling something tucked into the toe of the bag, he reached in and came up with his .45, still loaded with four rounds.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam looked over from where he was removing his soaked shoes and socks.

"The gun stays in the bag, hunh?" He grinned.

Sam stared. "Oh. I guess so." he said as a sheepish grin crept across his face. "I totally don't remember doing that." He confessed.

"Hey Sam?"

"Hunh?"

"Pretty damn sure you're Batman."

Sam snorted. He propped both boots by the fire, socks draped across them. Then he stood to remove his wet jeans, stretching them over a nearby rock. When he was done, he sat crouched by the fire in just his damp shirt and boxers. He leaned forward to warm his hands, mimicking his brother.

Dean suddenly noticed that Sam was kneeling on just the bare pallet of branches. "Where's the other sleeping bag?" He demanded. "Didn't I see each of those assholes with a nice, cushy bag?"

Sam suddenly looked sheepish. "One was all I could manage. Sorry."

Dean stared. "So you mean to tell me that you're sitting there half beat to hell, wet and freezing and you toss me the one damned sleeping bag?" He struggled not to be furious.

Sam looked sad suddenly. "You're hurt worse than I am, Dean. You need to be warm." he said quietly.

Dean swallowed. His little brother would never cease amazing him. How anyone, anywhere could ever want to hurt this kid was beyond his comprehension. Sam's heart was bigger than Dean's and John's put together, and just as tough. Dean was suddenly flooded with the memories of what those two bastards had put his little brother through, and he almost wished them back to life just so he could have the pleasure of killing them the second time around. He sighed and stood up, moving his pallet of branches next to Sam's and sitting down beside him.

"Looks like we're sharing, little bro." He unzipped the sleeping bag and stretched its warm inner fleece lining across both their laps.

"But if you tell anyone we spooned, I'm gonna have to kill you."


	18. Boy Versus Bear

Dean had every intention of staying awake and keeping watch.

But he had to share the sleeping bag with Sam, and Sam was tired. He needed to rest, and he needed to stay warm, which meant that Dean had to lie down too.

And once Dean was prone. It was all over. The terror and stress of the last three days dragged him down like a drowning man, and he was deeply asleep in mere minutes.

That's why Dean never heard the black bear until it was standing over them, snuffling through Sam's shirt to find the last three meat sticks that both boys had forgotten were there.

Dean had no idea the bear was upon them until he was startled awake by Sam's terrified yell. When he managed to get both eyes open and the bone-crushing fatigue blinked away, he saw the thing dragging his injured brother out from under the sleeping bag by his arm.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, like the bear was a handsy drunk who'd gotten too friendly over the pool tables.

"No! Hey!" Dean repeated, like the thing should understand that he meant business. He felt around feverishly for the .45.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam hollered, trying to beat the creature off with his free arm.

"Hold on, Sam! I'm coming! Shit!"

But suddenly Sam was free. He was free and scrabbling backwards on his butt like a crab, his shirt ripped open and blood evident on his bare chest. But the bear followed him, bawling. And when it reached him again, it took a single swipe with a massive paw.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, seeing the bear's claw connect with his brother's already gruesomely injured face. He saw his brother fall flat and saw the bear lower its head to Sam's chest. He saw the thing's jaws open wider than jaws ever should.

Dean rushed toward the grappling pair - man and beast locked together in a gory battle for dominance. Unable to locate the gun in his exhausted state, Dean took a swing at the thing with a piece of sturdy firewood - a small log they'd dragged to the site earlier. It wasn't enough to drive the bear back into the forest, not while the enticing scent of dried beef still wafted all around Sam like a delicious melody, but it distracted it for a moment. It distracted the bear long enough for Sam to drag himself out from under and scuttle back toward the fire.

But the bear was angry that the scent he was searching for suddenly moved farther away. He tried to follow, but there was Dean, standing in his way with a sturdy stick, like David facing a crazed and overconfident Goliath.

The creature charged Dean, knocking him flat to the ground and knocking the wind right out of him. It placed one bloody paw flat on his chest to restrain him, and it raised the other, taking a long, painful swipe at Dean's head.

And the last thing Dean saw before everything faded to black was his little brother stepping between himself and the massive, terrifying creature that seemed intent on killing him. Sam raised his hand straight out like he was commanding an army to halt.

But the bear kept coming.

And the world went black.


	19. Damage Control

Sam fired twice. He would have kept going except for the fact that he was afraid of dropping the animal directly on Dean.

Two shots to the shoulder, and the bear backed off - far from dead and pissed as hell - but at least it was no longer an immediate threat. Sam didn't want to think about the logistics of an injured bear lurking in the woods when they were still a day away from rescue, but following the thing wasn't an option.

The boy could barely stand. He could barely see. The bear's claw had caught him across the eyes and forehead, rounding out the damage to his face and maybe making it all come out even.

Sam's shoulder was bleeding too. The bear had taken a small chunk of him with it - another bad thing that Sam remembered from watching a documentary a long time ago. The only thing worse than an injured bear was one who'd tasted a human appetizer.

Sam had no fanciful notions. He and Dean were in deep shit.

The boy dropped to the ground beside his brother. Shit. Dean was a fucking wreck.

"Dean!" Sam shook him gently. But once again, there was no reply, and Sam had a sudden deja vu moment about stars and guns and … Bobby? But he couldn't really remember why.

The left side of Dean's face was pretty mangled. The bear had reopened the gash on his head and added a few more for good measure. His chest held the bloody print of a huge claw, and Sam was pretty sure he had at least three broken ribs from where the thing had stepped on him.

Sam settled down in the pine needles beside the older boy and tried to think of a plan. Dean would have a plan if their circumstances were reversed, and deep down, Sam knew he should have one too. But for some reason, he just couldn't wrap his head around it.

Just like he hadn't remembered leaving most of the weapons behind and hadn't remembered stashing the .45 in the sleeping bag, Sam was quickly losing the reason why he and his brother were out here to begin with.

Were they camping? Dean hated camping.

Maybe they were hunting. Sam wondered if maybe there was a wendigo close by. He looked down at his brother. Had a wendigo done that? And had they killed it?

He scratched at his arm aimlessly, realizing that he had a gun clutched in his hand, and he vaguely wondered why that was.

Could you kill a wendigo with a .45? Sam couldn't remember.

"Dean. Wake up." Sam shook his brother gently.

Dean groaned.

"Come on, Dean. You okay, man?"

Dean's eyes opened, focusing blearily on Sam. "Sam?"

"Yeah?

You okay?" The older boy struggled to sit up and cringed instead. "Fuck! Fucker broke my fucking ribs."

Sam tried to comfort him, "Stay still." He said gently. "You're a mess."

Dean looked up then and focused on Sam. Shit, the kid's face was just … destroyed. He blinked back tears. Why couldn't they cut a single fucking break anyway?

"I'm okay, Sammy." he tried to smile. "You're not though." He reached up to brush a flap of loose skin away from his brother's left eye like it was a lock of hair. "Shit." he cursed.

Sam studied his brother. "Dean?"

"What Sammy?" Dean struggled to a sitting position, trying not to die in the process.

"Why …why are we out here? In the woods, I mean. Are we camping?"

Dean's eyes shot to his brother's face. "What do you mean, Sam? You … you don't remember?"

Sam looked thoughtful. "Are we hunting a wendigo? Is that what did this?"

Dean swallowed back the sharp pang of fear that suddenly struggled to choke him. "No, Sammy. We're not camping. Dad left us at the cabin remember? And then those two assholes … You don't remember any of it?"

Sam suddenly realized that he must look like a fool so he just nodded. "Yeah, I … do … most of it." He lied. "I just got confused is all."He dug at his left arm.

Dean noticed. "What's up with the scratching there, buddy? You been doing that a lot lately."

Sam grimaced. "Don't know. Just feel like I itch inside. Nothing helps." He said sadly, digging some more.

Dean sat staring at his little brother sitting there in so much misery. The kid's face was practically gone. What was left was so black and swollen that he was unrecognizable. He had fresh blood streaming down his chest too, and there wasn't a damned thing either of them could do about it. They had no supplies. They were out of painkillers. They had no idea where they even were, and they were at least a day from rescue.

Would this fucking week never end?


	20. A Cruel Twist of Fate

They started out at daybreak, with Sam in trouble and Dean terrified. Sam was getting loopier by the minute, and Dean knew his little brother had something seriously wrong - due, no doubt, to the major thumping his head had taken repeatedly over the past two days. The itch was worrisome too, and Dean wracked his brain for what those two symptoms together might mean.

"So Sam, what happened with the bear?"

Sam looked up confused. "What bear?"

"The bear that did this to both our faces. That bear?"

"Uh, the wendigo you mean?"

Dean stared. "Okay. What happened to it?"

Sam stopped and thought about that. "I - I don't know?" He stumbled and went down hard.

Dean was beside him in an instant. "I got you Sam. Easy does it." He helped the boy to his feet gently.

"My head hurts." Sam breathed, bringing both hands to his ears."Dean, I mean it REALLY hurts."

Dean swallowed hard, 'I know it does, Sammy." He held the boy close. "I know it does."

"I … just … just leave me … okay? I don't think I'm supposed to make it out of this forest."

Dean snorted, "Yeah, that's really gonna happen." He slipped Sam's arm over his shoulder and supported the boy as they pushed on. "You know we're almost home free, right? Bobby's probably heading this way right now. We could run up on him any time now, and Sam?"

"Uh?" Sam moaned.

"He's bringing reinforcements, man. We got all kinds of good things comin' our way. You hear me?"

Sam smiled as much as his ruined face would allow, "Pancakes."

"Damn right, pancakes. Don't you forget it, bitch."

###

By 3:30 am, the parking lot in the national park was cluttered with three ancient pickup trucks - rusted out pieces of crap that were specifically designed to blend in anywhere. Bobby, Pastor Jim, Caleb, and Rufus greeted each other quietly and grimly hoisted backpacks and weapons onto shoulders. There were two innocent kids somewhere up on that mountain. Both were hurt grievously, and both were near and dear to each of the hunters' grizzled old hearts.

The four men headed down to the water and began silently working their way upstream in the darkness.

###

The bear was hurting. Pain was all it knew. It followed along behind the small herd at a discreet distance, waiting until the moment was right to feed. It saw one go down, and the bear almost charged then, but before it could get its momentum up, the second one was there. The prey was two-strong now, and something inside the animal told it to back off. The time would come when the herd became separated, and that's when the creature would charge whichever one was closest.

It felt less threatened when the two weren't together.

###

Dean could tell they were being watched, and the realization made all the hairs on the back of his neck salute. He scanned the treeline constantly, not really knowing what he was looking for.

"Hey Sam?"

"Uh?" His brother had mostly been reduced to single syllables, and his legs were becoming less and less cooperative. At this point, Dean was mostly just dragging him along.

"Did you, uh, salt and burn the bodies?" he asked, praying his brother would remember.

Sam swung his head in his brother's direction, gazing with confused eyes. "Uh?"

"Rudy and Angelo. Did you … you know … did you burn them?"

Sam sighed, "Did I … burn?"

"Yes, did you?"

"Nuh ..." Sam went down again. Falling to his knees before Dean could compensate. The boy groaned.

"Sammy, what's going on, man? Talk to me."

"Dean …"

"Sam … what …"

But Sam could only stare. He held up a shaking finger and pointed. "Look …"

Dean's gaze followed Sam's finger just as Bobby materialized from the treeline on their side of the creek.

###

Damn, Bobby was getting way too old for this hiking crap. They were less than three hours in, and he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode.

Again.

"Just keep puttin' one foot in front of the other, old man." He chided himself constantly. "You got two boys dependin' on you."

Then he rounded a bend in the stream and stepped out of the treeline to get around a fallen log, and that's when he saw them. His breath caught in his throat. Sam was on his knees, and his face …

Dear God. His face. How was he even still alive?

And judging by the look of things, Dean wasn't in much better shape. Both boys looked like they'd gone a round or two with a wood chipper and barely lived to tell the tale.

"Balls!" Bobby breathed quietly, stopping in his tracks. And Rufus, right on his tail, heard him.

"What's got you now, you old goat?" He asked. Then he followed Bobby's line of sight and gasped. "What the hell got a hold of those two?"

"Over here!" Bobby yelled, motioning to the two hunters bringing up the rear, as his exhaustion was forgotten and he took off at a sprint.

###

Dean grinned. "The cavalry has arrived, Sammy!" he said, lowering his brother gently to the ground. "You rest, okay? Be right back, little bro." And he stumbled forward, greeting Bobby halfway in his headlong dash.

"Dean!" Bobby cried, grabbing the younger man in a crushing embrace. "You okay, son? Dammit, boy. You look like hell."

Dean hugged back. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good, Bobby. It's Sam though …" His voice broke.

Bobby looked the boy in the eye. "We'll get him help, Dean. You hear me?" He said gruffly. "Sam's gonna be fine."

But in the woods, the bear tensed. It was time. The small herd was moving to join up with the larger one, but it had left the injured prey behind. The bear charged.

###

"Down! Get down!" Bobby and Dean turned back at the desperate cry. Pastor Jim stood, rifle locked and loaded and pointed right at them.

"What the hell?" Bobby started, but then realized that Jim's gaze was fixed on something beyond them both, and before he ever saw the threat, he realized what was happening.

"Down, boy. Now dammit!" He grabbed Dean and dragged him to the ground, as shots began ringing out.

"Bobby, what …?"

Bobby covered Dean's upper body with his own, forcing them both down on the forest floor.

But Dean suddenly realized in which direction the bullets were being fired. And he suddenly remembered what lay in that direction.

Sam.

He struggled to raise his head.

"Stay down!" Bobby barked, "Don't look, Dean!"

And when Bobby said, "Don't look" Dean went crazy.

"Is he shooting Sam? Bobby? Did he shoot Sam!" Dean shoved the older man off him desperately and struggled to crawl forward.

He saw the bear charging straight for his brother, and it was close. Damn, it was so close. Dean saw the bullets impact the bear and drive him back, but it wasn't enough.

Not nearly.

The shots slowed the animal down considerably, and Sam was on his feet at least - just barely - but he was up and moving, stumbling backward from the creature that was intent on reaching him.

But in the next instant, the crazed animal was on the injured boy. It barreled into Sam, rolling him along the forest floor like a stuffed doll. It reared up on two legs once - just once. And Jim's rifle fired again.

With that, the animal collapsed. And Dean could no longer see his brother.


	21. Tougher Consequences

After what felt like at least thirteen chapters trapped in that fucking forest, they were finally away. Of course the bear had died directly on top of Sam, and it took all five men to drag the massive beast off the frail kid.

But at least the younger boy was still breathing.

Caleb had carried Sam off the mountain. And Rufus and Bobby had nearly carried Dean because Bobby, being Bobby, had arrived with healthy doses of morphine for both boys, and by the time they reached the trucks, Dean was sort of convinced he could fly.

That's to say, nobody was feeling any pain.

Finally.

Well, except maybe for Bobby. And Caleb because he'd been the one relegated to return to the cabin and follow the boys' trail down to the weapons and to the remains. By the time anyone had thought to ask, Sam couldn't remember the two evil cousins at all, let alone whether he'd thought to bury their scorched remains.

And now Dean was curled up on the bench seat of Bobby's truck with Sam's head in his lap as Bobby broke every speed limit to get them to the private clinic of a hunter he knew. Both boys needed massive amounts of stitches, and Sam needed his nose reset, and he also needed a head scan, Bobby suspected.

And that just scared the older man silly. He'd never admit it to John, but he thought of Sam and Dean as his own, and the near impossible challenges that both boys would be facing after this fucking needless fiasco just damn near broke his heart.

"So help me, John," Bobby seethed silently. "I'm gonna kick your worthless ass into the next, damned century."

###

The prognosis turned out to be every bit as grim as Bobby had predicted. One brief glance at Sam, and Bobby's friend who ran the private clinic was on the phone to a plastic surgeon. It seemed the boy needed reconstructive surgery instead of a simple bone reset. The good news, however, was that the injury to Sam's head could not be causing his memory loss or his itch. As soon as the head scan came back okay, the doctor took Bobby aside and explained what he thought was probably going on with Sam.

"I'm pretty sure, from you've told me, Bobby, that Sam suffered a massive drug overdose and that the overdose caused brain damage."

Bobby's jaw dropped. "Is it permanent?"

"It could be. But we won't know for awhile. Everything you described - the chronic itch that felt like it came from inside his body, his worsening loss of memory - all classic signs of drug overdose. Of course the trauma to his nose, head and face didn't help matters, but the head scan came back clean. It had to be the drug he ingested. You don't know what he took, you said?"

Bobby bristled, "The kid didn't TAKE anything. Dean said it was forced on him by his father. We don't know what the bastard gave him."

The man nodded. "When Dean wakes up, I'll need to talk to him about how Sam reacted to the drug. I hope you realize that?"

Bobby grimaced, Dean was going to go apeshit when he heard that Sam might have brain damage. He sighed. "Whatever you have to do, Mike. I appreciate you helpin' us out. These boys … they're like my own kin." Bobby's voice broke.

Mike smiled and patted Bobby on the shoulder. "Just returning the favor, Bobby. I'll never forget what you did for me and mine, you know."

Bobby nodded, clearing his throat. "Can I see 'em?"

"You can go in. They're both out cold. Dean's not hurt as badly, but he's under a heavier sedation because I don't have to worry about what might still be racing through his system. Sam's lightly sedated, which means he's probably pretty miserable. I don't really have any choice though. The surgeon will be here in the morning to patch up his face."

Bobby grimaced. Sam was in pain. He could have done without that bit of knowledge. "He'll be sedated for the surgery though, right?"

Mike nodded, "Yes. But again, not as deeply as he probably should be."

Bobby scowled, "Well, can we delay the surgery until it's safe to give him the full anesthesia?"

Mike shook his head. "No. Sam's injuries are horribly painful. Every day we delay just prolongs his agony."

"Well, Balls!"

Mike smiled, "Go on in."

So Bobby did. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting it close behind him. He studied the brothers as they lay side by side in separate beds. They both looked to be about 12 years old - all broken and bruised like this. At first glance, he thought they were both out, but then Sam turned his head toward Bobby, and the old hunter smiled, stepping to the younger boy's bedside. He picked up his hand, which looked to be about the only thing on the boy that wasn't injured.

"Hey Sam." He said softly, smiling. "How you feelin'"

Sam looked back through black, swollen eyes and tried to return the smile. It came out as more of a grimace though. "I'm good, Bobby. How's Dean? Have you seen Dean?"

"He's right here beside you, boy. And he's doing just fine."

"He's here? In the same room?"

Bobby nodded, stepping aside so Sam could see his brother just a few feet away.

Sam looked, then looked up at Bobby. "That's Dean? Are you sure?"

Bobby frowned. "Yeah Sam, I'm sure. Why?" he joked, "Don't it look like your brother?"

Sam sighed and relaxed back against his pillow, "I thought - I thought Dean was … older."

Bobby's heart sank at the strange confession, but he just patted Sam's hand reassuringly. "That's the morphine makin' things fuzzy, boy. You in any pain?"

"Just a little twinge now and then. Nothing like it was."

"Well that's good." Bobby smiled again.

"Hey Bobby?"

"What, son?"

"Have you seen Dean?"


	22. The Guilt That Follows

Dean opened his eyes to Bobby standing over him, looking worried. The younger boy reached for the memory of why he was in a hospital bed and why the old hunter should look so concerned, and gradually, the horror of the last few days came back to him.

He spoke, his voice gravelly with a frantic edge, "Bobby, where's Sam?"

Bobby grinned then, "Funny, those were your brother's first words too when he woke up." He noted.

Dean allowed himself to relax a bit. If Sam was awake, that meant he was alive. Thank God.

"Usually, he's in the bed right next to you, but they just took him down for surgery."

"Surgery! What kind of surgery?"

"Relax, Dean. They just need to fix his face up a little. Mike's got one of the best plastic surgeons in the state on the job."

"Plastic …? You tellin' me Sam needs plastic surgery?" Dean felt panic rising. Sam must really be in bad shape - even worse than he'd thought.

Bobby nodded. "He'll be fine, Dean. You worry about gettin' better yourself. We got a lot of people looking out for your brother."

Dean had a horrible thought. "Dad's not here, is he?" His eyes shot to Bobby's, and he saw the change that rolled across them instantly at the mention of John Winchester.

"Balls, boy! You think I'd let that sorry excuse of a father anywhere near Sam? Or you, for that matter?"

Dean relaxed. "Good." He said. "Hey, they do a head scan?"

The older hunter knew Dean was talking about Sam, and he silently swore. He'd been hoping to avoid the coming conversation at least until Sam was out of surgery, but he should have known that Sam would top the list of his brother's priorities - even before his own recovery.

"Yep. Came back clear. That's good news, hunh?" Bobby tried diversion.

Dean's forehead wrinkled, "So … do they know what's causing Sam's … confusion?"

Bobby looked away and took a minute to compose his next words, and Dean knew immediately that something was up.

"Bobby? What aren't you telling me?"

Bobby rose. "Just hold on, Dean. The doc wanted to talk to you about that." He moved toward the door.

Dean's eyes grew into saucers, "Bobby! Just tell me! What's wrong with Sammy?"

But Bobby had already stepped out into the hall and flagged down the physician. The two returned and stood over Dean's bed, looking concerned.

"You the doc?" Dean questioned.

The man nodded, "You can call me Mike. Bobby and I go way back, Dean. I hear you're worried about your brother?"

Dean nodded, "He's … confused. Not himself. What's causing it?"

Mike settled into the chair recently vacated by Bobby, "Dean, do you mind answering a few questions for me? It will help me figure out what's going on with Sam."

Dean nodded.

"So Bobby told me that Sam recently ingested some kind of drug?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, and he wondered where this was going.

"Do you know the name of it?"

"No, but Dad said it was a tranquilizer. There's more of it in his bag." Dean replied. "He said they use on prisoners sometimes."

Mike looked at Bobby, "You have that bag?"

Bobby nodded, "Caleb's got it out in his truck."

Mike nodded, turning his attention back to Dean, "How did he take it? Pills? Injection?"

Dean shook his head, "Dad put it in his soda."

"Did he drink the whole thing?"

Dean stared. "Yeah, yeah he did."

Mike looked grim. "Okay, Dean. This is very important. Now, a normal dose of tranquilizer will gradually make you feel sleepy and relaxed. It will make you feel buzzed, kind of like the feeling you get when you drink a few beers. It's a good feeling, but it takes about an hour or so to kick in, and then it might make you sleepy. Is that what happened to Sam when he drank the soda?"

Both men could see the horror reflected in Dean's eyes as he shook his head. "No." he whispered.

Mike clarified, "It wasn't like that for Sam?"

Dean's eyes watered and spilled over. He shook his head again.

"So, tell me. How did Sam react after he drank the soda?"

Dean swallowed hard, "He … he went down real quick, like minutes. One second he was there, and the next he was … spacey. Couldn't talk, couldn't focus his eyes. He was drooling." Dean's voice drifted off.

Mike leaned forward, "He was drooling?"

Dean nodded.

"What else?"

Dean thought, "Well, he … he wouldn't walk unless I led him by the hand. Then he slept most of the way up. When we stopped for food … he couldn't … couldn't use the bathroom by himself. I had to help him. He couldn't wash his hands after. He could barely speak, even three hours later. And then he fell … hit his head on the asphalt."

Mike's expression was grim as he nodded. He glanced at Bobby, and then back to Dean before speaking, "Dean, your brother ingested what was apparently a massive overdose of a narcotic tranquilizer. The symptoms you describe - the loss of muscle control that resulted in drooling, being unable to communicate, being unable to control his own bodily functions on his own - all classic signs." He turned to Bobby. "I need that bag, ASAP." Bobby nodded, sickened by what his boys had suffered at the hands of the father who was supposed to be looking out for them.

"Dean, did John say why he wanted Sam tranquilized?" the old hunter asked.

"Sam … he knew something was up. He … he had a panic attack. He thought Dad was planning to take him out somewhere and shoot him. And then, when he took a drink of the soda, he could tell it had something in it. He said it was bitter. He pushed it away."

Bobby was exasperated, "Well why the Sam Hill did he drink it then? Did John make him?"

Dean raised haunted eyes to Bobby. "Dad didn't make him." he said tightly. "I did."

Bobby took a step back like he'd been punched. "You … Dean … why?"

Dad said if I didn't get Sam to drink the soda, then we would stop and pick up Rudy and Angelo on the way up." Dean's eyes pleaded with Bobby. "He didn't want to drink it, Bobby. He pushed it away, and I put it back in his hand. I was just so afraid … afraid of those two … psychos … getting hold of him. I made him, Bobby. And then when he took another drink and set it down again, I put it back in his hand again. I … I told him to drink the whole thing. I said he could … he could trust me. I told him that, Bobby. Why did I say that?"


	23. Memories

Sam awoke to darkness and the sound of hushed voices. Bobby and Dean, he thought and might have smiled. Bobby was nearby; he and Dean must be safe. He opened his eyes to join the party.

But the darkness remained

The panic descended swift like a knife. He tried to raise his hands to his eyes but realized both hands were tied down.

That's when the fear overwhelmed him. Sam sat straight up in his bed, struggling against the restraints.

"Dean!" He cried out in fear. "What …?"

Footsteps rushed to his side and gentle hands landed on him.

"It's okay, Sam." Dean's comforting hand was on his back, his head close to Sam's ear. "It's okay. You're fine. I'm right here."

"Dean!" Sam babbled, "I can't see! Why can't I see? It's … it's all dark!"

"Sammy, you're fine. It's just the bandages from the surgery. They'll be off soon, and you'll be able to see just fine."

Sam was heading toward hysteria, "I'm cuffed! Why am I cuffed? Where are we?" He struggled to free his hands.

"Stop pulling on the restraints. You're gonna hurt yourself." Dean chided him kindly. "They put those on because you were scratching your arms in your sleep."

Bobby's voice, 'You're safe, boy. Dean's safe. You're in a clinic, and you're being taken care of. You can relax, Sam."

"Breathe, Sam." Dean reminded him, rubbing his back gently. "Just breathe, okay? Don't talk."

Sam complied and felt the fear receding. Dean and Bobby were there. He was safe. Then a new thought rocked him. He turned his head to Dean's voice, "Dad? Dean, is he here?"

Dean snorted, "No way, Sammy. You don't have to worry about Dad. Bobby and I aren't letting him near you. You hear me?"

Sam couldn't relax with his hands in restraints. He jiggled them helplessly and pleaded, "Dean, please, get these things off?"

Dean hesitated.

Sam practically sobbed, "Dean, please? Please, I … I can't stand …"

"Okay, Sammy. Okay. I got you. Hold on." Dean released one wrist while someone else … Bobby? … unhooked the other. "You gotta promise not to scratch, though okay? You have your arms dug to hell and back."

Sam's breathing calmed as he massaged his wrists and touched a hand to his face. The bandages stretched all the way around his head, encompassing him from above his upper lip to his forehead. "What … what happened?"

"You had surgery to fix your nose and they went in and made you pretty while they were at it." Dean joked. "I guess they figured, what the hell?"

But Dean's humor was lost on Sam, "Surgery? Is my … my face? Is it okay? Will I look okay?"

"Relax, boy." This from Bobby, "You'll be breakin' hearts again soon as the bruises heal."

Sam reached for the memories of what had landed him here. He jolted and reached for Dean. "Dean! Your head! The rock! You okay?"

Dean sounded relieved. "Sam, you remember that?"

"Yeah, of course I remember. Angelo, he … he tried to bash your head in. Did … did you get surgery too?"

Sam swore he could hear Dean smiling, "No Sammy. I'm cool. Guess my head is too hard to damage too much, Got a few dozen stitches is all. What else do you remember? Can you tell us everything? What happened between the time they knocked me out, and you … you shot them?"

Sam concentrated, trying to remember. "I … nothing. It happened right after. I … I shot Angelo, and then Rudy dropped you and then I … I shot him too."

Relief was in Dean's voice again. "Thank God." Sam heard him whisper.

"Why? What did you think happened?"

Silence.

"Dean? What?"

Bobby spoke up, "We didn't know, Sam. We were just worried that those two, well … that maybe they … hurt you before you were able to take them out."

Oh! They thought … "No! No way! Nothing like that happened. I swear!"

Dean's comforting hand on his arm again, "So … do you remember everything that happened then?" Sam felt the back of his bed rising to hug him comfortably. He settled back and tried to relax.

"I think so. Well, at least most of it. I mean … there are still some blank spaces, I think. But I remember running from the cousins and then they found us. I remember … "

"What Sam?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing Dean. It's nothing. I just … I remember it all, okay? I just … don't wanna talk about it. It's …"

Dean waited, "It's what, Sam?"

"It's too .. humiliating." Sam whispered. "The things they made … me … do and say."

But Dean leaned in and took both of Sam's hands in his own. "No Sam. You don't do that. You hear me?"

"Do what?"

"You don't feel ashamed. You hear me? We did what we had to do to stay alive. Okay? None of what those sons a bitches did or said affects us in any way. You hear me? That's on them. Not on us. Not on you."

"I know," Sam said in a small voice.

"Damn straight you know. Now listen, you're awake and remembering and that's a good sign. We'll be out of here before you know it."

Sam considered that. He turned to Bobby's voice, "Bobby, can we … can we stay with you for awhile?"

"Got your rooms already made up, boy." Bobby said gruffly, clearing his throat.

"Pancakes, Sammy." Dean was grinning, Sam could hear it. "Pancakes and bacon and cookies and pie. Right Bobby?"

Sam heard a snort, "How do I get myself into these things?" Bobby wondered aloud, without meaning it.

But their reunion was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Dr. Mike. "Oh! I see our patient's awake." he noticed. "This is a good sign. How do you feel Sam?" He asked, approaching the bed and introducing himself. "My name is Mike. I'm your doc, and you don't have to worry about talking to me because Bobby and I go way back. I know all about the hunting gig."

"Hi." Sam offered hesitantly.

Mike checked Sam's vitals, nodding agreeably. "Looking good, Sam. How do you feel?"

"Okay." Sam offered.

"Got a headache? Itchy? Any of that?"

Sam thought about that and nodded, "Yeah, I guess."

"Which one?"

"Both."

"Okay. How's the memory? Can you tell me what happened to you?"

Sam remained silent, turning his head toward Dean for confirmation.

"It's okay, Sammy. Mike's good people. You don't have to hold anything back."

"Sam, I need to hear your version of everything that happened from the time you drank the soda. Do you remember back that far?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Tell me everything. Do you know what was in the soda?"

"No. It was bitter. It made me feel … awful."

"Awful how?"

Sam tried to think of a way to describe what had happened to him, "Just … helpless … out of control. Felt like I couldn't control anything that was happening to me. Like I could see and feel but couldn't … couldn't participate."

"So, could you have lifted your arm if you wanted to?" Mike questioned.

Sam shook his head slowly. "No. Couldn't raise my arm. Couldn't … couldn't close my mouth." He looked down in shame.

Dean was back by his side in an instant, comforting hand on his arm, "It's alright, Sammy. It wasn't your fault."

"Dean, I need to scratch." Sam whined.

"Where do you itch, Sam" Mike interrupted, placing his hands over Sam's. "You can't, by the way. You're digging yourself raw."

"Mostly my arms, but my legs itch too - and my hands and feet."

"And when did that start?"

Sam thought, "Back at the cabin. Once the drug began wearing off, the itch started."

Sam could hear Mike pulling up a chair and adjusting it so he was eye-to-eye with him.

"Sam, Here's what happened to you. I want you to listen close, okay? We're not out of the woods yet."

Sam nodded.

"Caleb brought back the … bag …" Mike shuddered just thinking about the hellish torture devices they'd discovered tucked into that horrid canvas duffle. "that your father sent with Dean. It had an animal tranquilizer in it."

And just like that, all the air was sucked out of Sam's lungs, and he was gasping.

Animal. He'd been dosed like … like an animal.

Sam's world collapsed.


	24. Phone Call From John

"That was quite a reaction that Sam had to my words. Any reason why, Dean?" Mike questioned later as he, Dean and Bobby stepped out into the hallway.

Dean shrugged. "I have an idea." he answered noncommittally, not wanting to share his brother's humiliation at the hands of Rudy and Angelo.

Mike sighed, "Well, regardless, Sam needs to know what he's up against. Just because he's remembering a few things that were lost to him in the heat of the moment doesn't mean that we're out of the woods yet."

"You mean he could still have brain damage?" Dean clarified.

Mike nodded, "The itch is worrisome. That should be gone by now. That tells me that the damage - at least some of it - could be permanent."

"Balls." Bobby breathed. "You mean he could be stuck with that itch all his life?"

"The itch? Not likely. He could take a downward spiral as far as his memory goes, however. An overdose is a tricky thing. The damage may not reveal itself all at once, and considering that Sam ingested a massive amount of a drug that was never intended for humans, there's not really any way of knowing the long-term effects."

Dean was tired of the pussyfooting. "Look. Just tell it like it is. What's the worst-case scenario for my brother?" he demanded.

Mike looked sad, "Worst case? He loses his memory slowly - piece by piece - until it all goes. Eventually, he might not remember his own name, might not know who either of you are, won't remember anything that's happened to him over the years. Nothing at all."

"So when will we know?" Dean asked, voice breaking.

Mike shrugged, "Time will tell. Sam will probably suffer both setbacks and triumphs over the next few weeks. If the good times outweigh the bad - then we'll know."

Dean turned away then, and Bobby was left facing his old friend. "So … what do we do?"

"You take him home. Treat him like you normally would, and watch him close. I have the number for a doctor in Sioux Falls who will take over care of Sam's bandages until they can come off." He handed Bobby a slip of paper. "If you have questions, or if Sam suddenly takes a turn for the worse, call me."

Bobby nodded. He tried to smile, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate, and it came out as more of a grimace. "Thanks, Mike."

###

So they took Sam home - back to Bobby's. And they set him up on the couch so he wouldn't have to navigate the stairs. Dean made his own bed on the floor beside his brother. He needed to be closer, especially now. Sam was essentially blind until the bandages came off, and Dean just needed to keep him nearby, make sure he was safe, make sure he was breathing - probably more for his own satisfaction than for Sam's.

And they watched and waited, looking for the signs that would tell them what Sam's future - what all of their futures - held.

And on the second day at Bobby's, John called.

Dean's phone rang first. Then Sam's. Then, much to everyone's horror - Rudy's. It was Bobby's phone that rang last - hours later. And Bobby was the only one in the house with the stones enough to answer.

"Hello."

"Hey uh, Bobby. It's John."

"Yeah?"

"You, uh, you heard from the boys, by chance?"

Bobby seethed silently, trying to get his anger under control as Dean and Sam sat behind him at the kitchen table, looking terrified, their burgers forgotten.

"Matter of fact, I did."

Silence.

"And?" John barked, all pretense of politeness suddenly gone.

"And what do you want me to say, Winchester? That you're a crap father? That you don't deserve either of those boys? Okay, there. I'm sayin' it."

"So they're with you, I take it?"

"You take it right. They're with me, and that's where they're stayin'. You hear me? You ain't ever seein' these boys again, John. And so help me, if you show up within 20 miles of my place, I'll have a little welcome party waiting."

John snorted, "What'd they tell you? Tell you I was too tough on 'em? Sam whine to you about his training being too hard? I guess all this was for nothing if they cut out and ran to you right away. I want to talk to Dean. Put him on the phone."

Bobby counted to ten. "You ain't ever talkin' to either one of 'em again. You hear me? And if you try and pull something like showing up here and draggin' 'em back, I'll have the law waiting for you."

Silence.

"What the hell are you talking about, old man? How I raise my kids is my business."

"Not when you go feeding them animal tranquilizers."

Silence.

John sounded less sure of himself, "It was a just a little something to take the edge of Sam's panic attack. Boy needs to man up."

Bobby winked at Dean, and moved to take the conversation outside. He closed the door behind him. "You know Sam has brain damage from that shit you gave him? You know he's so bandaged up from the beating those two assholes gave him that he's essentially blind? You know those two tried to molest your youngest? Did you know any of that?"

"You're exaggerating. You sound just like Sam. Put Dean on the damned phone."

"Nope. I ain't telling you again, John. You forget about these boys. I won't ask you for anything - no money, no clothes, no food. I'll raise 'em as my own, but you stay the hell away. You got that? So help me, if I ever lay eyes on you again, you ain't gonna wanna know what's gonna happen."

Silence, but Bobby could feel John's anger through the phone line. "What about Rudy and Angelo? You get their side?"

"Last I saw of those two was the bones Caleb toted out of the woods. Sam put 'em both down when they tried to kill Dean. They damn near succeeded too. Way I heard it, they wanted Dean out of the way so they could have Sam all to themselves. That what you wanted, John? I got two traumatized kids here with horrifying head wounds and God knows what kind of psychological scars all because of the two perverts you sicced on 'em."

"You're lying."

"And you're an asshole." Bobby said, and ended the conversation. He returned to the kitchen and slammed the phone down on the table, making Sam jump.

Dean was wide-eyed. "What'd he say?"

"Same old bullshit he always says. I did warn him to stay the hell away though. You boys don't have to worry. He knows not to come around. Told him I'd have a welcome party waiting. And the law."

Sam put his head down, "This is my fault." He said softly.

Dean and Bobby exchanged a worried glance. Dean spoke, "Why would you say that, Sam?"

Sam raised his head and looked toward his brother, "You and Dad - you get along okay. It's my fault that all this happened. It's … it's just something about me that Dad … that makes Dad … " he looked away then. "If you … if you wanna go back, Dean. It's okay with me. I mean, I know he's your dad too."

Dean swallowed hard. He reached over and placed a reassuring hand on Sam's arm. "Sammy, you're my first priority. You know that, right? I'd never cut and run with you all bandaged up like this. And as far as this being your fault? You didn't do any of this, Sam. This is all on Dad. Everything that happened to us up on that mountain? Those two being dead? Dad has himself to thank for that. Nobody else. None of this is your fault. You hear me?"

Bobby joined in, "Son, your dad has always been hard-headed and a little too … focused on the hunt. But there's something seriously wrong with a man who'd do what he did to his own sons. You get me? Ain't neither of you safe anywhere near him, and I'm damned sure gonna do my best to make sure that never happens again."

Sam nodded, but didn't seem convinced.

Dean shoulder-bumped him playfully, "Come on, little bro. Eat up. Burgers, right?"

Sam smiled and reached for his sandwich.

"There was a time about a week ago, Bobby, when these burgers were all we could think about." Dean informed the older hunter. "Burgers and bacon."

"Well, I'm glad you like 'em." Bobby answered, pleased and sad at the same time.

"Sure beats a damned meat stick." Dean growled. "I might never be able to look one of those in the eye again."

Sam tilted his head, "Meat stick? Ugh. Those things are nothing but salt, Dean. When did you start eating those?" He took a bite of his burger.

Dean froze, his burger halfway to his mouth and dripping grease all on the table. "Uh, the meat sticks we ate on the mountain, Sam. You remember." He all but begged, eyes meeting Bobby's in fear.

But Sam just shook his head. "No way, man. I'd remember eating that. Those things are gross." he took a bite of burger.

And just like that, Dean's appetite was gone.


	25. Forgetting

The brothers sat side-by-side on Bobby's rustic porch steps, knees touching. Dean had his brother's arm in his lap, gently running an adhesive lint roller up and down the inside of his forearm. Sam had discovered accidentally that this brought temporary relief from the itch that still haunted him night and day without causing more damage to his already scratched and scarred arms, and Dean was devoted to administering the make-do treatment as often as his brother needed it.

It was an exceptionally beautiful winter day in Sioux Falls - temperatures near 60 degrees and sun shining. The sky overhead was puffy with clouds, and if Dean didn't know better, he'd think it was an early day in spring instead of the bleak dead of winter. At another time, he and Sam might be outside training on a day this mild - sparring playfully and trading the verbal jabs that were such earmarks of their relationship.

Days like this sort of gave him hope. And Dean needed hope.

Because things with his brother were rapidly declining.

Sam seemed to be losing ground by the day, and the speed at which he was losing information terrified the two people who loved him most. Sam had trouble remembering how to set the water temperature in the shower now, and just yesterday he'd pulled Dean aside and asked him quietly to remind him how to use the microwave to heat up a cup of coffee.

It was beyond heartbreaking.

Dean was devoted to Sam - helping him navigate around Bobby's house, even though both boys should have known the place like the backs of their hands. All of the good memories of their childhoods - the ones filled with normal things like home-cooked meals and daily conversation - those things were all tied up in this place.

But Sam was quickly losing those memories. And the more Sam lost, the more determined Dean was to help him remember.

"Hey Sammy, you remember that time Bobby caught us breakin' the windows out of that old Dodge that used to sit down there on the corner of the lot? Remember, I was John McClane and you were Hans Gruber? Boy, did he get mad. I think that's the only time I ever saw Bobby get that pissed."

But Sam just shook his head, "When was that?"

Dean smiled, lost in the memory. "Coupla years ago … seven or eight maybe. You remember? A piece of the glass flew back and caught you in the cheek. Gave you a hell of a gash. That's what got us in trouble."

Dean shoulder-bumped his kid brother. It was one of Dean's best memories because, even though Sam had gotten hurt, it was one whole day where the brothers had played together normally - no incantations, no weapons to clean - just two boys reenacting favorite scenes from their favorite action movies. It had been a day just like this one, and Dean was suddenly tempted to take his brother by the hand and pull him up and down the rows of junked cars screaming "Yippie ki yay, Motherfucker!"

"Remember, Sam?"

Sam nodded, "I think so."

Dean looked away, eyes watering. Sometimes Sammy just said things like that to make Dean feel better. Sam knew he was losing ground, and he was trying to be so brave through it all. Sometimes Dean just wished the younger boy would break down and scream or cry or throw something. He wished he'd just call Dean all the rotten names he deserved. Dean halfway wished his brother would just hate him and be done with it because the brave routine was silently killing them both.

And it was all Dean's fault.

All of it.

Every night in his dreams, Dean revisited that hellish day in the motel. Every night he fed Sam the soda that started it all. And some nights it was the way it had actually been - Sam's quick descent into nothingness. Other nights, the soda was laced with arsenic or lye, and Sam fell to the floor and died horrifically over and over again.

And always, Dean just watched, helpless to stop it, helpless to save his brother. Some nights Dad forced Sam to eat dog food from a dish off the floor before he made Dean give him the soda. Other nights Dean would stake Sam to the crusty carpet of the motel room and pour the poisoned soda over him.

Those nights were the worst.

Dean would wake up on the floor beside the couch screaming Sam's name over and over and babbling repeatedly that he was sorry. Sam would comfort him then, crawling down on the sleeping bag beside his brother and hugging him close - skinny Sammy arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, rocking him gently until the horrific visions faded.

Dean really just wanted to not wake up at all most mornings, but he made himself get up and get dressed and paste on a smile and start the "Hey Sam, remember whens."

Because he and Bobby were all Sam had left, and because it was terrifying enough being an observer to Sam's decline. Dean couldn't even begin to grasp what it must feel like to Sam - the brainy one of the bunch, the kid who remembered every detail of every website he'd ever researched, the kid who knew way too much about everything. Dean had always called his little brother the King of Useless Knowledge for just that reason. Sam, the real Sam, was always spouting off a random piece of interesting information that somehow just always seemed to fit the occasion.

Of course, that was before.

Sam didn't do that anymore. Even though he'd gotten his bandages off weeks ago, and still spent a good bit of time parked in front of Bobby's aging dinosaur of a computer, he didn't carry the knowledge with him like he once had.

And Dean missed those off-the-cuff remarks about the most mundane things. But none of that mattered because at least Sam was still with them. It might be a honed-down version of the whip-smart Sammy he was used to, but Dean didn't care. Sam's heart was still all Sam. In fact, the more of his past that Sam lost, the more affectionate he became - as though he was trying to make it up to Dean and Bobby somehow. Lost Sam was more of a hugger than he'd ever been. And he often just laid a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder as he passed by his chair or jabbed him playfully in the ribs as he pushed past him on the way to the table. He was especially careful to make sure that Bobby knew just how much he appreciated his dinners and would carry the older man a beer every now and then, unbidden, with a smile of gratitude on his face.

It meant the world to Bobby and Dean, and the older boy could tell that Sam knew that. Maybe he couldn't share all the same memories with Dean that he had before, but he could let Dean know that he was still the same person - maybe a little more lost, a little more confused - but just as determined to be there for his family.

It wasn't the same - not by a long shot - but it was all that Sam had to offer, and Dean was constantly amazed at his brother's strength in the face of adversity.

Because Dean was pretty sure that, faced with the same situation, he would have laid waste to the fucking world by now.


	26. Remembering

Sam sat on the workbench at the back of Bobby's garage, reading and watching Dean help Bobby replace an alternator on an ancient Chevy pickup truck. Dean would be going out hunting again, and he'd need a vehicle.

Sam wasn't sure what Dean was planning to hunt, but somehow he just couldn't see his brother decked out in the camouflage jacket and pants like the guys in the magazine he was currently rifling through. He'd found the old issue of _Hunting Times_ buried on Bobby's coffee table, and when he'd heard Dean talk about returning to hunting, he'd picked it up and leafed through it. The guys in the magazine had nothing at all in common with his brother. But he stopped on an article that talked about the best types of guns to use when bear hunting, and something sparked in his memory.

"Hey Dean? Did we … we ever go bear hunting?" He blurted out.

Dean and Bobby froze.

Suddenly, Sam could picture a bear. It hovered over his brother menacingly, and suddenly Sam had a chill so severe he shivered. He looked up, fear written on his face. "We did, didn't we? It … it had you down. It took a swipe at you!"

Dean was at his brother's side in an instant, looking down at the magazine in his hands. His gaze traveled up to his brother's eyes, and Sam saw something … was it hope? … shining there.

"You remember that, Sammy? The bear?" Dean asked gently, studying his brother's face intently.

Sam nodded, grinning. Then the grin disappeared, and Sam reached up to trace the still-livid scar that ran the edge of Dean's hairline. "That's … that's what did this, isn't it?" Sam asked distantly, his voice suddenly far away. "I was there. I think … I think I shot it." He met Dean's eyes, "Did I shoot it, Dean?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't know, Sammy. All I remember was it taking a swipe at my face and then you putting yourself between me and the bear. You had your hand out. Then I was out, I guess. Do you remember shooting it?" he asked hopefully.

Sam nodded. "I did. I had a handgun. I … I shot it twice, but didn't kill it. It ran back into the woods. I wanted to follow and finish it off, but you were … you were hurt. And I think I was hurt too. I couldn't see right or something."

Dean grinned. "You sure were, little bro. That bastard grabbed you out of your sleeping bag when you were asleep and tried to drag you into the woods. You remember all of it?" Dean shot a glance at Bobby who was standing with a greasy rag in his hand, grinning like a damned fool.

Sam hopped excitedly down from the workbench. "We were camping! No! Wait! We … we were running?" He suddenly looked haunted. "Why were we running, Dean? I remember feeling … terrified and …" He trailed off.

Dean moved in close, "And what, Sammy? What do you remember?"

Sam backed up against the wall of the old, drafty garage, his eyes like saucers. "A man. He … he told me to take my clothes off, didn't he? He … he was planning to ... " Sam was shaking now. "I remember it was so cold."

Dean put a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's okay Sam. It's okay to remember. He can't hurt you now. Bobby and I … we're right here. You can tell us anything. Do … do you remember anything else?"

Sam was lost in his own terrifying memories. His voice and body shook uncontrollably as he relived the details of his abduction at the hands of Angelo and Rudy Dawson. "He … he staked me to the ground, but he was talking about Bobby the whole time." Sam's confused eyes met Dean's. "Why? Why would he try to comfort me the same time he was …"

Dean's heart suddenly dropped to his feet.

Sam's eyes grew impossibly wider, and Dean saw the moment of betrayal dawn brightly.

"Sam …" He started softly, eyes watering.

But Sam pulled away. "Why, Dean?" He demanded, tears staining his cheeks. "Why did you … it … it was so cold. I thought I was going to die. Why?" He pulled away and stumbled out the door, disappearing into the darkness.

Dean stood, shocked and silent, as his brother pushed him away. He couldn't find the courage to go after him, not after what he'd done. First the soda, then all the shit that had happened in the woods. Dean hadn't even told Bobby what those bastards had done to him and Sam - how they'd played them one against the other, how much each brother had feared for the other's life.

He couldn't bring himself to talk about it. The guilt was too much.

And now Sam remembered - remembered and hated him. It was more than Dean could process. He leaned into the wall and slid down, ending in a crouch on the floor - his head in his hands.

Then Bobby was there in front of him, kneeling, and placing a comforting hand on the back of his neck. "Tell me about it, boy." He said. "Let me help."

Dean raised his head. "Those two. They had some kind of … training in interrogation or something. They played us off against each other. They told Sam he … he was an animal. Told him if he looked at me or talked to me that they'd hurt me. Then they made me stake him to the ground half-naked. And when I refused, the bastard pulled out a lighter. He was going to burn Sam with it. So I did it. I staked him out, and when I tried to cover him, they threatened to break his kneecaps with a hammer. So I just left him there all night. I … I thought he was dead by morning, Bobby." Dean raised haunted eyes, "It was so fucking cold."

Bobby swallowed hard, wishing he had the two cousins chained up alive in his panic room instead of buried in his backyard. He leaned in and gave the boy a hug.

"They … they kept telling him he was animal. They made him eat … dog food."

Bobby inhaled sharply, "Bastards." He breathed in fury.

Dean was sobbing. "As much as I want him to remember, Bobby, God help me, I don't want him to remember everything they did to him - to us. He's suffered so much already. Why does that have to be the first thing he remembers?"

"Dean." Sam said softly from the doorway.

Dean looked away, his voice hitching, "Sammy … I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Sam moved forward and slid down beside his brother, wrapping his slender arms around the older boy. "It's okay." He murmured, resting his head on Dean's shoulder, "I remember what happened. I remember all of it now. We did what we had to do to survive. Dean, it's okay. None of it was your fault. I know that now."

"Sammy, I just … I just want to go back to that day in the motel and just … run … just take you and start running and never stop. Why didn't I get you out when I had the chance? Before Dad … before he hurt you? Before those two bastards … Why? Why didn't I do that. Sammy, why? This … all of this. It's my fault!" Dean was a blubbering mess now.

But Sam stayed by his brother's side, hugging him tightly, rocking him gently like Dean had always done on the thousands of occasions when Sam had needed comforting.

"None of this is on you, Dean. None of it. I don't blame you for any of it. I blame Dad. You hear me? This is on him, all of it. And someday, I'm going to make him pay for putting us through this … for putting you through this. I will, Dean. I swear."


	27. Plans in the Making

Sam's progress over the next few weeks was agonizingly slow, but there was no doubt - his memory was returning. And as things began coming back to him in bits and pieces, a weight seemed to lift from his chest. And one day, as Sam was whistling a tuneless version of one of Dean's favorite old rock songs through the house, his brother realized with a start - Sam was … happy.

In fact, the Sam that shared the room with him upstairs and that had been attending the high school down the road for the past month was a happier, more relaxed, more normal version of Sam than Dean had ever experienced.

Dean felt like he'd just had the amputated piece of his heart stitched back into place. And even Bobby was strutting around the house with pride at just how well the younger boy was adjusting to his new life with the old hunter.

And secretly Dean wondered if he wasn't seeing the real Sam for the first time. This Sam had no hunts to prepare for, no weapons to clean on a regular basis. He was just a sixteen-year-old kid who was slowly getting his life back in order after a tragic incident, and it made Dean's heart sigh with relief at how well his little brother was finally able to move on past the traumatic events of the last few months.

"Hey, jerk," Sam hailed him as he wandered into the kitchen for an after-school granola bar and a glass of milk. He plopped down in the seat across from his brother where Dean was field-stripping his weapon and grinned. "Miss me?"

Dean snorted, "Miss you? Had the place all to myself while you were gone, bitch." Dean returned affectionately.

Sam stared, "Nah, you missed me. Hey Dean?"

"Whaaaat?" Dean feigned exasperation, not wanting his little bro to see just how much he loved their return to old interactions.

"Gotta a project due on the history of rock and roll. Wanna volunteer?"

Dean sat back, "Well, what kind of project is that for cripe's sake? What kinda classes you takin' at that high school anyway? What ever happened to the hard, boring, crappy projects like the Theory of Evolution or obscure Asian cities? Sheesh."

Sam grinned. "Gotta a lady teacher. I think she likes me."

Dean snorted again, "Yeah? She go for the gangly, clumsy type, uh?"

Sam winked, he freaking WINKED, "Bite me, big brother." he said, clamoring to his feet. He nosed through the pots on the stove, "Bobby say what's for dinner? I'm hungry."

"I look like your damn catering chef, boy?" Bobby strolled in, swatting at Sam affectionately.

"Ow!" Sam played along, "I can't help it. I'm starving." He ducked out from under Bobby's playful right hook.

"Dinner is tacos and corn chowder, Sam." Bobby came clean. "Unless you wanna grace us with your culinary skills, uh?"

"Nope. Sounds heavenly." Sam plopped back down at the table. "Hey Bobby?"

"What?"

"We got Christmas lights?" Sam picked up the weapon Dean had just laid down and began field stripping it.

Bobby stopped in his tracks, "Christmas lights?"

"Yeah, you know, like for outside."

Bobby exchanged a look with Dean, "Well, hell, Sam. I don't know. I ain't put up Christmas lights since … well … since Karen, I guess."

Sam looked stricken. "Oh. I'm sorry, Bobby." He said, quickly. "Never mind. It was a dumb idea anyway. So, you need help with dinner?"

'

"Well now hold up there, boy. I guess I got some lights around here someplace. Course findin' 'em could be a problem."

Dean shrugged, "Could be fun. I'll help you look."

Sam grinned, "I just thought, you know, it's kind of our first real Christmas together. Might be nice to do it up right?"

Dean stared at Sam, then he glanced at Bobby as a slow grin lit up his features. "Well, it is our first Christmas together."

Bobby grinned back. "Damn straight it is."

Dean rubbed his hands together in excitement, "Ham and sweet potatoes."

"A Christmas tree!" Sam blurted.

"Well, hell's bells. I gotta find the lights first, you idjits."


	28. The End of the Line for Big John

"Sammy, you got this?" Dean asked, stepping around the four dusty boxes of Christmas lights littering Bobby's front porch.

"Yeah, jerk. I got it." Sam snorted. "Go … work on your truck or whatever it is you do."

"Bitch, I got stuff to do." Dean acted hurt.

"Whatever, man. How 'bout you're in my space?"

"Hunh. How 'bout you write your own damned rock and roll essay, Esai?"

"Geez Dean. I wasn't going to ask you to write it. I want a passing grade, you know."

Dean grabbed him in a choke-hold and dragged him down the steps. He took him down to the ground easily, but stopped just shy of dropping him.

"You sayin' you're smarter than me, little bro?" Dean held him, caught fast.

Sam was laughing so hard he could scarcely talk. "Lemme go, Dean! You're smart, okay? You're smart!"

Dean set his little brother back on his feet and stepped back, dusting him off. "Damn straight I am. Don't you forget it, bro."

Sam shoved him playfully away. "Shoo!" Don't need you here. Go away!"

"You two done playing Ring Around a Rosie? Can we go now, Dean?" Bobby stepped outside, pulling the front door shut behind him.

Dean looked innocent. "Talk to him. He's the one causing trouble."

Bobby snickered, "Somehow I doubt that. But if you want that piece for the truck, I'm gonna need your help to wrestle it off that old wreck out by the pasture field." He held up his toolbox.

"Hell, Bobby!" Dean whined. "That's like a good half-hour walk."

"So get walkin' already." The older man growled. "Be back in a bit, Sam."

"Yeah, so get those lights up already, slave." Dean barked, dancing away before Sam could wring his neck. "Or Santy Claus won't leave you any porn in your stocking."

Sam shook his head as the pair walked away, "Jerk." He muttered, smiling.

###

The two walked in silence for awhile before Bobby spoke up, "Sure is good to see you two back to your old obnoxious selves." Bobby smiled.

Dean smiled back. "It's gonna be a good Christmas, Bobby. I can feel it."

"Dean, I haven't looked this forward to the holiday, since … since Karen. It sure does a body good having you two around. Kind of lightens the old man's days, you know? And if you tell anyone I said that, I'll have to kill you."

Dean snorted. "Don't worry Bobby, your secret is …" He trailed off, listening, eyes going wide.

And as the rumble grew louder, there was no mistaking the deep, throaty growl of the Impala as it rocketed up the lane toward the house.

Bobby locked eyes with Dean, "Balls!" he exclaimed, as the two began running.

###

Sam heard the Impala long before he ever saw it, and he tried to swallow back the panic before it overwhelmed him.

But suddenly, all the progress that he'd made over the past months, all the confidence he'd regained - all of that took a backseat to the all-encompassing fear that surrounded him. And when the long, black Chevy squealed to a stop in a cloud of dust practically at Sam's feet, he turned to run.

But he was a second too late.

Four grown men piled out of the vehicle, and the one closest to Sam grabbed him in the same choke-hold that Dean had playfully used earlier.

Except this time, Sam couldn't breathe for real. He feared his neck was going to snap like a matchstick as the older and bigger man held him impossibly tight.

"D-Dad!" Sam cried out just before his air supply was cut off and as he saw his father emerging from behind the wheel of the familiar car, his face grim, head shaking.

"Check the house." John barked, sending two of the hunters inside. When they came back out to report that Sam was alone, John smiled.

"I told your brother what was going to happen if you messed this up, Sam." he threatened, menacingly, as he moved to stand in front of his youngest son. He nodded to the man holding Sam, and the brute released him just long enough for John to down his son with a solid right hook."Now you have the murders of two good men on your hands, Sam. You hear me?" He dragged Sam to his feet. "Not demons. Not ghouls. Humans! And last I heard, we don't kill humans."

Boom! John landed a second punch.

"Not … good men." Sam tried to argue. "D-dad, they … they tried to k-kill Dean!"

"I don't believe that bullshit for a minute, Sam."

Boom! Sam went down again.

"I think you and your brother cooked that story up to justify what you did. I think Rudy and Angelo tried to do exactly what I hired them to do, and you got pissy. That's what I think. I think you threw a bitch-fit, and your brother gave in to you just like he always does." John gestured to two of the men, and they reached down and yanked Sam to his feet, each holding an arm.

"Tie him up."

Sam's eyes widened, "Dad! No! What's wrong with you?"

"You're a murderer, Sam. You crossed the line. You're no better than the things we hunt now."

"Dad! It's not true! Please!" Sam pleaded as one of the hunters picked up the string of Christmas lights that Sam had dropped and began winding them around his chest, trapping both arms.

"But you know what's even worse, Sam?" John stepped close, "That you dragged your brother down with you." He grabbed Sam by fisting two hands in his t-shirt and leaned in close. "He was my good son, Sam. You hear me? You? You've always been a screw-up, a wash-out. But Dean was special. Now he's not anymore. And that's all on you, boy.

"Get back in the car, Dad." Dean suddenly growled from the side of the porch where he held a shotgun trained on his father.

John smiled. "Dean." He nodded. "Good to see you, son." He said, emphasizing the word "you." Think you can take all four of us out with that?"

"I think he might need a little help." Bobby said from the other side of the house, a second shotgun in his hand.

John scowled. "You got nothin' in this, old man. These are my boys."

"You gave up that right when you poisoned one of 'em." Bobby stated calmly.

"Seriously, Dad. Get back in the car. I don't want to shoot you, but I will." Dean's eyes locked with Sam's as he tried to send his brother strength. "I'm not letting you hurt Sam again. You hear me?"

"It's still two against four, son. You're outnumbered." John replied smugly.

"Make that three, John." Caleb called out from behind the Impala.

"Four." Rufus said, stepping out from behind the old garage.

"Five." Pastor Jim finished, emerging from the row of junked cars.

All of the men were armed.

"You think I'm an idjit, John?" Bobby warned. "We knew you'd come skulking around sooner or later."

John glared at Pastor Jim. "You're a part of this too?" He asked indignantly. "Separating a father from his sons?"

Jim stared him down. "You haven't been acting very fatherly lately have you, John? I was there when we brought these boys down from the woods. I saw the damage. That's not something you forget easily."

John tried to deal his way out of what he realized had turned into a bad situation. "Fine then. I'll just take Sam and be on my way."

Dean's eyes cut to Sam when their father made that declaration, and he saw the fear that blossomed there.

"Not happening, Sammy. Don't you worry." he called out.

John glared at his oldest. "You really willing to shoot your old man, boy?" he taunted, stepping toward Sam.

The shot that rang out at John's feet was Dean's answer.

"You let him go, Dad. You let him go right now, or I swear I will. I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're not thinking straight, and there's no way in hell you're ever getting hold of Sammy again. He's mine. He's always been mine. And I'm not sharing him with you anymore. You'll never again taunt him or berate him or make him feel like he's not the best thing that ever happened to this family. Because he is, Dad. And if I have to kill you to save him, well. I won't bat an eye."

"That goes double for me, John." Bobby backed the older boy up.

John looked around to see three other heads nodding. He motioned to the man holding Sam, and the hunter stepped away. Sam shrugged off his bindings and took three steps away from his captors, breathing heavily.

John snorted, "Listen to yourself, Dean. He's yours? He belongs to you? Is there something I'm missing here? That's not how brothers talk about brothers."

"He's mine. You gave him to me when you shoved him in my arms 16 years ago and told me to look out for him. Well, I've done a pretty shit job of it lately, Dad. But that stops today. You hear me?" Dean's voice was becoming more and more calm, and Sam knew that tone. It was the tone his brother always got right before he killed the monster of the week.

And John knew it too. He knew it because he suddenly pulled a .45 from the back of his jeans and pointed it at his oldest boy. He walked forward determinedly.

"You gonna kill me, boy? I don't think you got it in you."

Dean faltered, and there was a tremor in his voice. "Dad! Stop! Don't make me!"

And suddenly Sam knew that while Dean would never be able to shoot his own father, his father had no such reservations. He cried out in anguish, "Stop! Dad! Just stop! I'll go with you!"

"You're not going anywhere, Sam!" Dean replied, backing up as his father advanced.

"Go on, Dean. Do it!" John taunted, knowing that his oldest never would. "Show me you got the guts to gun down your own father. Come on!"

"Dad, please!" Dean had tears in his eyes and his voice now.

"Dad!" Sam pleaded. "Don't!"

And it wasn't until John walked up and placed the barrel of his .45 directly against Dean's forehead that a single shot rang out.

And when John Winchester went down, it was his youngest who stood holding the smoking gun.

 _ **Author's note:**_ _Thanks to everyone who's following and favoriting and leaving such kind reviews :)_


	29. Painful Conclusions

The bullet from Sam's gun, the one he'd kept tucked in his boot since his memory returned, caught John in the left shoulder. It was enough to incapacitate the man, but not to kill him.

But he went down hard regardless, his gun discharging into the air. He flailed at Dean's feet as the boy took a single step back, staring down at his father in shock. Dean's eyes lifted to see who'd actually had the stones to shoot the mighty John Winchester in the back, and when he saw his little brother standing there with his arm still outstretched, grief and terror fighting for dominance on his face, he couldn't breathe.

"No, no, no …" Dean mumbled incoherently, his head shaking. Don't let it be Sam, he begged silently. Sam had been through enough. He didn't have to shoot his own father too.

Not to save Dean.

Not again.

He didn't need to live with that memory for the rest of his life.

And then Dean was running across the yard, vaulting over the porch steps, to land at Sam's side. His brother's face was once again puffed and bleeding, but the worst was the emptiness in the boy's eyes.

"Sammy." Dean's voice broke, his hand silently reaching for the gun that was still frozen in his brother's hand. "Sammy. It's okay. I got you. I'm here." He pulled Sam to him and hugged him hard, like he was never going to let him go.

Sam was shaking. He was shaking and then his knees gave out, and he was sinking to the ground, still caught in Dean's embrace. The two boys huddled there at the end of ancient, rickety porch while the men took charge of John and his companions.

Later, Dean would wonder where Jim and Rufus and Caleb had materialized from so quickly, but he never quite found the courage to question Bobby about it. And he didn't care to. It was the sudden appearance of the three hunters that had made their stand possible. Alone, things could have ended a lot differently, and Dean couldn't bring himself to think about it.

Sam was mostly alright, and that was all that mattered. Gone, though, was that confident, carefree kid. Sam turned quiet again, introspective. And Dean didn't know if it was the shock of the hateful things John had said to him, the realization that John was really capable of killing at least one of them, or the pain of having shot his own father in the back. Sam wouldn't talk about it - not any of it. And when Dean pushed him, he would start to tremble silently, wrapping scarred, skinny arms around himself as though he was trying to fold himself up and disappear completely.

So Dean stopped asking. And in the aftermath of that hated, deceitful day, he came to two conclusions. First, that his kid brother had enjoyed the shortest damned childhood in the history of all mankind. And second, that it was Sam who was the real badass of the family.

Despite all of Dean's swagger and tough talk, when the shit really hit the fan, it was sensitive, sixteen-year-old Sam who'd stepped up to save the day. He'd shot Rudy and Angelo. He'd shot the bear. He'd carried Dean down off the mountain. And he'd shot his own father.

And he'd done it all to save Dean's life.

The little boy who Dean had spent his life trying to protect - the kid he'd literally carried through the fire - wasn't so little anymore.

And as Dean and Sam and Bobby sat giddily around the Christmas tree that cluttered Bobby's living room and exchanged meaningful gifts and sipped hot, spiked cider on their first Christmas together, Dean studied his brother and tried hard not to mourn the insecure kid he'd lost back in that motel room months ago. He tried, instead, to look forward to what the future held for the brave, young man who was so quickly becoming an adult.

And then he realized that it had worked after all.

Dad's horrific, terrifying plan to make Sam grow up overnight.

It had worked.

And then Dean hated his father all over again.

\- THE END -

 _Epilogue Forthcoming_


	30. Epilogue

Hel, daughter of Loki, stood before John Winchester - the real John Winchester - and wallowed in his misery. The mighty hunter had finally been brought low enough, as low as the trickster offspring could take him, and if the grisly creature had a heart, The depth of John Winchester's agony would have made it swell with pride.

The hunter knew everything now. Every abominable act that Hel had orchestrated on his behalf. He knew because Hel had played the uncut version for him on the screen that took up one entire, dripping, execrable wall of Helheim. She played it for him as it happened, one tortuous piece at a time, leaving intermittently to create more mischief while wearing the body that was the exact replica of the man she toyed with. She left John to his pain and to his paralyzing fear of what was to come for his family.

John saw himself, loading ungodly items of torture into a bag as he grinned evilly at his youngest son. He saw himself sprinkling a potentially deadly poison into a can of grape soda and offering it to the boy who was, secretly, one of the only two reasons that John bothered to stay alive at all. He saw his oldest collapsing in tears against the wall of a decrepit motel, and he saw the only two hunters he actually feared slide the barrel of a gun into his youngest boy's mouth. John saw Sam's terror. He felt his fear. And the mighty hunter broke into a million useless pieces and vomited into a corner already covered in filth.

But when he saw the perfect adaptation of himself place a gun to Dean's forehead, John began to beg.

And that was the moment for which Hel had been waiting - to see the fearless hunter brought to his knees before her.

The feeling would have been sweet nectar to her soul if she'd had one.

She had nothing personal against the man, really. He was just one name on a list that Crowley brought her from time to time. Crowley ruled Hell. Hel ruled Helheim. They were two peas in a pod, and they both loved manipulating the fate of those poor pathetic humans.

Such a rush.

But now the game was over, and it was time for John to go. She'd had her fun with this particular toy, and it was time now to release him - to let him go back to the ruination she'd made of his life and to secretly watch and rejoice as he haltingly tried to make amends for the heinous acts he hadn't committed.

No one would believe him. Nobody ever did. Hel had played this game before - a million times over - and it always ended the same.

In death and destruction. In suicide or in madness. The road that awaited John Winchester was narrow at best. At worst, it only led to one place.

Hel tossed back her grisly head and laughed grotesquely.

The best part was yet to come.

 _ **Author's Note:** A special thank you to Lenail125 for catching the error in my timeline that referred to the fire :) And thank you to everyone who hung in there until the end. I took liberties with Hel's story, so I hope you brought your willing suspension of disbelief to the party. Thanks again for all the kind reviews!_


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